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Thb period of the world to which the name of Martin 
Lather carriea back our thoughts is one of the most 
stirring and thriUing interest. It is rendered con- 
spicuous on the historic page by some of those grand 
events which have exercised the greatest influence on 
the progress of the human race, and whose effects will 
continue to be felt till time «ha11 be no^more. 

I may remind you of the/cliscqyetf by the Spaniards 
of the rich and fertile islanSs of We Ht^est Indies ; of the 
passage to the East laid open foi^ffe first time by the 
Portuguese ; of the commer(!iifi*^jij)i^ which was begin- 
ning to unite the most distant proTinces of the globe in 
the ties of a strong and mutual interest. It was also 
an age when a passion for literature was spreading, and 
to its refinements the discovery of that art which has 
been the source of so many blessings to mankind, — the 
art of printing^*— had imparted a ftesh impulse and 
vigour. Now Ariosto sai^ in the sweet Tuscan lan- 
guage, and Guicciardini wrote history in the same silver 
tongue. Now, also, thoughts of beauty and genius were 
painted on the canvas, or wrought into the marble; 



and in the cartoons of Raphael, and the creations of 
Michael Angelo, is seen a degree of perfection nnap- 
proached by any sncceeding age. And to crown all, 
the dark midnight which had brooded for centnriee 
over the human mind and the linnian heart, was dis- 
persed at once and for ever by the noonday light and 
glory of the Reformation. The generation which pre- 
ceded this era was stained by the worst of crimes ; all 
ranks and orders, from the peasant in his cottage, to 
the prince on his throne ; from the priest in his cloister 
to the Pope in his palace, were familiar with the cor- 
ruption of the times. Not that I would be understood 
as saying, that even in the bosom of a church corrupt 
as was the Romish, there were no men of God animated 
by a spirit of righteousness^ and who mourned with a 
holy lamentation oyer the vice and iniquity that so 
extensively prevailed. 

In the very darkest annals of a world which from 
the first introduction of sin lias been " lying in the 
wicked one," there have ever been noble exceptions to 
the surrounding ungodliness ; men who stood forth in 
the moral firmament as bright particular stars, shedding 
the light of truth on an otherwise unbroken night. 
But these were the exceptions. Even those appointed 
to minister at the Church's altars were disgraced by an 
immorality as gross as it was unblushing ; infidelity of 
creed was general ; purity of life was uncommon. The 
priests chose for their companions men the most dis- 
solute ; their usual haunt was the tavern ; the dice box 
was oftener in their hands than the prayer-book ; and 
their nightly orgies were wound up with scenes of 
violence and words of blasphemy. The mysteries of 

Mr mofltlioly fidth were not imfreqneutlj spoken of as 
sjest; sKidthe mass itself, in wbieh tbej professed to 
offer up t sacrifiee for tiia Ihingand ihe dead, was often 
tamed into ridionle aftor its solemn celebratioo. Among 
the higher orden of the ckrgy ike oorraption was not 
less great; they fonnd, many of iHaem^ a more con- 
genisl home amid the taflaalt and Mcentiowsoess of the 
eamp, than amid the |>eaoefhl shadca of their several 
abbeys, or the Tebgbns serrices of tfaair appointed 
chimties. The prc4eots of ambition, "tiie -graspings of 
afarice, and the policies of istiigne, presented greater 
stttaetiona than the performance of those sacred duties 
eenneeted with the worship of God^ and the salvation 
of so«k. And if we look higher, and glance at the 
Pontifteai Court itself, we shall find that, it was blackened 
snd disgraced by tieentmsaessand tveaaon^ and peUuted 
snd pro&ned by incest and murder, ^e history of 
that age is one of the rery darkest in the annals of the 
boman kind, and is throws into a deeper shade when 
we remember that Rome aseerted. nmnecsal dominion 
erer the Chnstian world, and claimed te be considered 
the guardian of the Catholic faith. 

Bat we torn away omr thooghts from the crimes and 
intrigoes, the scoffing and ihe eeoni, the atheism and 
infidelity which hold high retel thronghoot the wide 
predncts of the Eomisii ohoMli, and we transport our- 
selves to a humbler and a purer scene. 

In the village of Mora, near the l^uringian forests, 
has dwelt for many centuries an indent and numerous 
fiunOy of the name of Luther. One of the younger 
members of this ftnnily, by name John, who has em- 
ployment in the mines of the neighbpuiliood, has taken 


a journey to Eitleben, to attend the annual fsir. His 
wife accompanies him, and on the night of their arrival 
she beoomeB the mother of a son : it ia the iOth of 
Novemher, 1483, the eve of St. Martinis day, and there- 
fore the parenta give him the name of Martin. 

It is a scene for a painter — ^that quiet home ; the 
yoang mother and her first-bom babe ; the holy feel- 
ings which express the calm yet deep rapture of their 
emotions through the moist and glistening eye. It is a 
subject for a poet — that boy of lowly origin, whose 
birth is unknown and uncared for beyond the humble 
fkmily circle, but who is yet to win a world-wide fame, 
and be one of the greatest benefactors of our race. As 
the mother bends over his infant cradle, she little thinks 
of the influence he is to wield over the destinies of his 
fellows. She knows not, as she fondles him in her 
bosom, or lays him lovingly on her li^, that in the 
heart of that child lies the germ of future deeds as noble 
in their accomplishment, and as grand in their results, 
as ever have been achieved in the history of the world. 
That slender arm, that droops so listlessly on her knee, 
is yet to be uplifted against the authority of the Pon- 
tificate, — ^that placid eye, slumbering so calmly, is yet 
to be lighted with the fires of a holy indignation agtdnat 
the unrighteous power which keeps the earth in thral- 
dom ; and that voice, so shrill and feeble in its cries, is 
to awaken the nations from the deep apathy into which 
they had fallen, and to send down such a startling 
echo to future generations, that men, standing as we do 
now in the middle of the 19th century, shall thrill at 
the name of Martin Luther, and assemble together to. 
hear of his never-dying fame. 


The early life of the Reformer was one of great 
hardahip and aererity. Speaking of his parenta, he 
saya, '* they were originally in great poverty ; my 
bther was a poor miner ; my mother has borne her 
fire-wood on her back." When at the age of 14 
he was sent to school at Magdebui^, we read that hia 
privations were so great, that in order to obtain the 
necessary means of subsistence he was obliged some- 
times to beg alms, and sometimes to sing carols from 
door to door. He was much indebted to the character 
and education of his parenta for that prudent training 
which developed all the resources of a naturally maa- 
eoline mind, and fitted him for the glorious mission to 
which he was appointed of Gk)d. His father was a man 
of intelligence and piety ; and we are told that he often 
prayed loudly and fervently at the bedside of his child, 
" that the Lord God would make him partaker of His 
grace.** His mother was possessed of a devout and 
reverent spirit, and waa adorned with those virtues and 
grscea which become the pure and noble-minded woman. 
Yet, notwithatanding all the worth of his parents, they 
appear to have employed too much harshness and seve- 
rity in the education of their son. However, all things 
were working together for his good. Luther himself 
acknowledged in after-life, that he should never have 
been the man he waa, had he not passed through the 
stem and rugged discipline of his early years. 

It is in the school of suffering that God not unfre- 
quently educates the mind and heart of the man who ia 
to achieve in after-life those magnificent deeds that are 
to advance the cause of humanity, and bring down 
UcMinga upon the world. Trial and adversity, acting 


Upon A soul born to be holj, greftt^ And good» are m$JAen 
well fitted to teaeh the leteon of »elf-comnuuid and 
eelf-Gontrol ; to inBtmct ae to how the domimon over 
the baser propenaitiea and paaaiona can be aequured; 
and how the lower nature can be made to bow and to 
obey. Not HBoally in the soft lap of prosperity ia the 
man who is to master men, and to moold the destinies 
of the World, nnrtnred and nnrsed ; no^ he who is to be 
the doer of high deeds, who is to give the oolour of his 
individoal mind, not only to hia own age, but to all 
succeeding times, is oftener rocked in the rude cradle 
of adversity, and tanght, by years of self-denial and 
patient tml, to win the asoendancy» not only over him* 
self, but over others. It was to the trials of his youth 
that Luthef traced up the streams of his success j 
thei^fore was he not ashamed to own that the voice 
whose thunder shook the throne of the Pontiff was 
once heard plaintively begging for a morsel of bread 
in the streets of an obscure town i and he had a 
pleasure in the confession, not only on this Account^ 
but also because he felt that the memory of his original 
condition, contrasted with his after-fame, redounded to 
the glory of that Ond who ** chooses the foolish things 
of the world to confound the wise, and the weak thinga 
of the world to confound the things that are mighty } 
yea, and base things of the world, and things which 
are not, to bring to nought things that are.'* 

When Luther was 18, his father sent him to the 
University of Erfurth, where he applied himself dili- 
gently to scholastic philosophy, and the study of the 
Latin classics. But while attending to the ezpanaion 
tif the intaUeet, he neglected not the cultivation of the 

HARTfN liVTBSft. 7 

jMtft. His chief pleuore was fomud in raising his 
thoughts to the noblest of all contemplations — to God, 
and the sonl, and eternity. His Either had intended 
him for the profession of the law ; hut a circumstaDce 
now occurred which determined the son to abjure the 
woiid and take monastie vows. 

He is widldng in the fields one day with Alexius, a 
yoong and intimate friend, when he and his companion 
are surprised by a terrific storm. The blue lightning 
stnsras upon the troubled air ; crash after crash of the 
loud thunder startles the heavens, and the frequent 
bolt lalls with a fearful explosion. It seems as if the 
judgment knell of creation were being rung. The 
tempest rages with redoubled fury ; another Tivid 
gleam, another awful pea], and Luther, horror-stricken 
and aghast, sees Alexius smitten dead at his side. He 
fiUls on his knees in a paroxysm of fear. Perhaps his 
own hour is come. The grare yawns at his feet — 
desth is upon him-— the judgment seat--etemity in all 
its tresMndousness, — snd the heart of the trembling 
youth is thrilled by the most overpowering emotions. 
Before he rises from his knees, there on that drenching 
ground, there with the horrors of the storm around 
I, there with the lifeless body of his friend before 
Luth«r TOWS that if his life be spared he will 
devote it exclusively to Ood ; he will be more holy ; he 
will rigidly perform all his duties ; he will ** gird up 
the loins of his mind," and do with all his might the 
woik that Ilea before him, and which can only be done 
on this side the grave. 

It was an age when the monastic life was esteemed 
the highest and the most perfect, and he had heard of 


ita poirer to cbinge the heart and to sanetify the soul. 
He will therefore lead a life of holy Bedosion irithin 
conyeBtoal walla, and deaenre the j^oriea of hea?eii. 
Hia reaolye is at once pat into execution. In 1505 he 
hecame a member of the Aogaatinea at Erfurth, and 
entered apon hia new career with that reaolate deter- 
mination which formed ao remarkable a featnre in hia 
character. Though hia father would ha?e fain altered 
hia reaolution — ^though weeping frienda aurrounded the 
convent gate with lamentationa, hoping to perauade 
him to return — ^it waa all in yaiu : — God had called 
him, and it waa hia duty to obey. He parte with every 
memorial of the world he had left ; hia lay habita, hia 
Maater of Arta ring, he aent back with a farewell letter 
to hia frienda, and hia Chriatian name ia changed to that 
of Auguatine. 

Up to thia period Luther had never aeen the Bible. 
Portiona of the goapela and epiatlea, which were read 
in the aervioea of the church, he waa of couiae fitmilUy 
with; but beyond theae the inapired volume waa a 
aealed book. '* The Faculty of Theology at Paria had 
juat branded itaelf to all aucceeding agea by the decla- 
ration that ' Religion waa undone if the atudy of Greek 
or Hebrew were permitted;*''* and the general 
opinion aeema to have been comprehended in the apeech 
attributed to a popular monk — '' They have invented a 
new language, which they call Greek ; you muat be on 
your guard againat it. There ia in the handa of many 
a book which they call the New Teatament ; it ia a book 
full of daggera and poison. Aa to the Hebrew, it ia cer- 
tain that whoever leama it immediately beoomea a Jew !" 

* Yilltft on the Beformatioii, quoted by Dr. Croly. 


llie year 1507 was an epoch erer to be lemembered 
in the life of this great serrant of Gk>d. Being of 
stodioaa babit8» he spends much of hia leisure time in 
the fibraiy attached to the jhonastery. He had often 
resorted thither to pore over its stores of learning, and 
aa often he returned to his cell, the same man he had 
ever been, " darkness brooding over the deep waters 
of his heart." But there comes an hour when all is 
changed. On one memorable day he bends his way 
aoeording to his custom along the corridor leading to 
the Ubrary, and it may be said that the spiritual destiny 
of Europe hangs on his steps. It little enters into the 
dreaming spirit of the meditative monk, that this day 
win be marked out in all time as that which gave an 
impress to the character of his whole after-life. He 
Unds in the library of the conventy and chained to the 
wall, a n^^ected volume, written in the Latin tongue. 
His curiosity is aroused — ^he opens the book — he reada 
the title — it is the Bible. He at once gives himself to 
the study — his attention is arrested — his heart is filled 
with joy. As beautifully as break the first beams of 
the morning over the world, the rays of a new truth 
steal gradually in upon his soul. Day after day he 
returned to the library. The Bible was read again and 
again. It was studied and re-studied, until the book 
which had lain neglected for centuries in the convent 
of Erftirth, deposited upon the unknown shelves of a 
gloomy hall, became the book of life to his soul, and 
through him to a whole nation. In that Bible lay the 
germ of the noblest revolution that the world has ever 
seen. As Luther reads vrith an almost trembling 
delight the sacred oracles of God, his knowledge in* 


cRMes ; religion, which until now was only a barren 
form, grows into a limg^ reality, and is ftit to be 
divine. He finds the word of God to be ** sharper than 
any twa«dged .sword, pierciDg even to the dividing 
asunder of soul aad spinft, and of the joints and 
marrow, and to be a diacerner of the thoughts and intents 
of the heart." He sees himself as he had never seen 
himself before^ The law of the Lord has convinced 
him of sin» and his soul is exercised by a severe internal 
struggle. He bad not found in the seclusion of the 
cloister that peace or progpress in holiness which he 
had so fervently desiitd. The fears that had agitated 
him about the safety of his soul while yet in the world, 
pursued him to his cell. Now the struggles of hia 
bleeding conscience are increased. His mind, enlight- 
ened by the Word, tells him how holy be ought to be, 
and what a sinner he is. He can see nothing in him- 
self but omission, and impurity, and defilement ; no 
righteousness within, no righteousness without. 

Justification by works was the doctrine of the monks 
and theologians of the day. It was only natural that 
such teaching should well-ni^ drive him to despair, 
for he felt that if heaven could be entered only throog^. 
his own merits, there was no hope for his sin-stained 
soul. His days passed in a long and weary mental 
conflict, and the silent arches of the cloister often 
resounded vrith his heart-drttvm cry of anguish. It has 
been said that be often hurried away from some dis- 
pute on doctrine, and, overpowered by the struggles of 
his own heart, has tiurown himself on his bed in aa 
agony of supplication, crying out in the words of the 
Apostle, ** He hath concluded all in unbelief that he 


might have nerej upon tJL" The moit solemn oere- 
monies of his church could not hanishi even during 
the period of their celebration^ the sorrow and angnisfa 
of his soul. Let me giro yoa an instance. Hie priests 
are saying mass in the chapel of the conrent; the 
fkagiaaoe of the incense that has been burnt upon the 
altar fills the sanctuary with its gratefbl odours ; the 
last notes of the " Gloria" hare ceased to echo through 
the sombre aisles^ and one of the monks begins to 
read the gospel for the day. It is the narratire of the 
fiuher who brings his child to Jesus that the evil and 
dumb spirit may be expelled. Jesus ''rebuked the 
foul spirit, saying unto him. Thou dutnb and deaf 
spirit, I charge thee, come out of him, and enter no 
more into him. And the spirit cried, and rent him 
sore.*' — Hark ! from the choir a cry of piercing anguish 
thrills through the chapel, and Luther falling upon hia 
knees ezdaims, '* It ia not 1 1 it is not I !** The monks 
had attributed his snflTerings to secret intercourse with 
the Devil, and he thus protests that the anguish of his 
soul does not proceed Arom any demoniacal possession. 
On one occasion he had shut himself up in his oell 
for many days and nights. A friend anxious Upon his 
account, takes with him some of the choristers, and 
knocks at the door; he liatena for an answer, but 
there is none. He knocks again*— all is silent within. 
fie grows more alarmed—- he breaks open the door. 
Luther is upon the floor insensible. Edemberger en* 
deavoura to recall him to his senses, but all in vain ; 
be shows no signs of life. The choristers stand by 
mute. At length they chant with their rich and 
youthftil voices a sweet and touching hymn. The 


notes steal gently through the ears of the poor monk, 
and Tibrate upon the chords of his heart. His colour 
returns; his eyes unclose; consciousness is restored. 
But peace comes not with retuming life. There is only 
one melody which can awaken joy in his soul — ^the 
melody of the Gospel sound. This has not yet thrilled 
with all its gladdening power upon his heart. He is 
still anxious, and downcast, and dispirited. He still 
toils and labours after peace with God. 

Like thousands before and since, he sought relief 
from the throes of an accusing conscience in external 
ordinances ; in watchings, and fastings, and prayers, 
and the rigid observance of painful personal mortifica- 
tion. *' 1 tormented myself/' he says, in one place, 
" to death, to procure peace with God, and to my 
agitated conscience; but surrounded with hideous 
darkness, nowhere did I find peace." ^' I confessed 
every day, but that availed me nothing ; I could only 
give way to despair." Under this stem discipline, and 
a poignant sense of sin, and a trembling apprehension 
of God, added to intense study, his frame pined away, 
his health declined, and he sometimes sank down in a 
death-like swoon* It was at this time, when anguish 
was preying upon his heart, and undermining his 
health, and his cell re-echoed to the groans of his 
bnrthened spirit, that it pleased God to give rest to his 
troubled and perturbed mind, and to shed upon his 
soul the balm of heavenly peace. The instrument 
chosen by the Lord to instruct his servant in the great 
gospel doctrine of a free salvation, restoring life and 
liberty to the dead and enslaved spirit of man, was 
John Staupitz, the representative of a noble family in 


Misnia, and '^^car-General of the Angaatinea throngh- 
ont Gennany. He himself, through the study of the 
Bible, and through conflicts similar to those of Luther, 
which had brought him to the cross of his Redeemer, 
had found peace with God. At a visit from Staupitz 
to the Monastery of Erfurth, his attention was arrested 
by the appearance of a young man, emaciated to the 
last degree by abstinence, and study, and watchings, 
the sadness of whose countenance bore evident traces 
of a mind diseased. He was immediately attracted to 
the young monk by some mysterious impulse, and pro- 
fiting by the opportunities afforded through his posi- 
tion, he sought to win the confidence of Luther. He 
succeeded. Luther disclosed the anzioua thoughts by 
which he was agitated ; the pains and agonies of his 
mind. Staupitz pointed him to Jesus Christ ; to the 
wounda he suffered for sinners ; to the nails ; to the 
crown of thorns ; to the blood shed upon the cross. 
" Instead of inflicting sufferings on yourself, because 
of your faults, cast yourself into the arms of your 
Bedeemer ; confide in the obedience of his life, and the 
efficacioas merit of his death." " Seek not conversion 
in emaciation and suffering ; but love Him who first 
loved thee.*' These words fell upon Luther^s ear with 
all the melody of a message from heaven. He listena 
in rapt and breathless attention to thia the first dis- 
eloanre of the fkee and gracious love of God which it 
had ever been his happiness to hear. His heart is 
stirred to its very depths by the feelings of an hitherto 
unknoim joy. '' It ia Jesus Christ,'' thinks he in his 
heart, " yea, it ia Jesus Christ himself, who so wonder* 
ftilly comforts me by these sweet and healing worda.'* 

14 MARTiiff jjommwu 

Before the YiGar-Oeoeml left the eonvent» lie gave 
Luther a Bible» who vejoiced that he was at length 
maater of that treaaore, which he coaid only read 
OCcaflionaUy before in the Univenitj libnury, and 
chained to the oontent wall, or at beit in a fiend's 
oelL The work thna h^pily began by Stanpitz was 
cairied on by an old brother in the monastery. Lather 
was at this time seized by a sadden and dangeroos 
illness, and again his sonl was distracted by the con- 
sdoosness of his own sii^Uness, and the thoa|^t of 
God's holiness. . The old monk recalled to his mind 
the Apostle's creed, and more especially the claose, '' I 
beUcTe in the forgiyeness of sios." These words were 
aa oil to the tronbled waters of his soul : *' I believe/' 
he repeated to himsdf, ** I believe in the remission of 
sins/' ** Ah," said die monk, " it is not enoogh to 
bdievie the sins of a David and a Peter merely are for- 
given ; devils might believe dial. God commands as 
to believe that <mr sins are forgiven." How deii^tM 
did this commandment seem to poor Luther ! ** Hear 
what St. Bernard says in his discourse on the Annun- 
dation," added the aged brother : — *' the teaching of 
the Holy Ghost in thy heart is this ; thy sins are for- 
given thee 1" From that moment light dawned on the 
soul of the young monk. The word of grace has 
been spoken, and he believes. He renounces all merit ; 
he carts himself entirely on Christ. He did not at 
once perceive all the conse<|aenoes which flowed from 
the principle he had adnutted, for he was stiU sincere 
in his attachment to the Bcmiish churchy though he 
felt no fiirtber need of her homan inventions for pacify- 
ing the strong diss of his wounded conscienoe. He 


had reeeived aalyatioii from God hiaaeif ; and while bt 
vaa still a Roman CathoUe, the power of Roman 
Catholidam oyer his heart and mind was wtuall j at 
an end. He adTanoed. He sought m the writinga of 
the Apoades and Prophets for all that eonld add power 
to his fidth and Tigoor to his hope. One passage of 
Scrtptare, eipecially, became to him the gate throng 
which his sool wss admitted into a Paradise of spiritoai 
bliss. In the ist chapter of the Bpisde to the Romans, 
he read the saying of the Prophet Habskkuk, " The 
jnst shall Uts by fMth." These words, which explained 
the wystcry of the Christian life, took entire possession 
of his heart, and gave him peace and joy in beHeying. 
Hia mental health was restored, and with it thestrengA 
of his body. Life and light had been given him from 
abore, and henoefotth he is a new creatore, aboandiDg 
in that righteonsness, peace, and joy, which are the 
essential elements of the kingdom of God, and " re- 
voicing in hope of the glory to be fevealed." 

Bat we most now dxrtet your gaze to Lnther as he 
leaves Uie obscore convent for a wider field of action. 
Through the infinence of Stsnpiti with Frederic the 
Elector of Ssxony, he is appointed to a professorship 
in the University of Witiembnrg. One af his duties is 
lo give a lecture every day from the iBonptares to the 
students ; and in the Adfilment of this offiee his exhibi- 
tions of troth aire so startling, liiat a aiunerous crowd 
of Bsteners aie attracted ronnd the elaqnent monk. 
He spake to his livetted aodienoe not aa the scholastic 
pedant, or the snbtle rhetorieian, hut as the man of 
God i^o has been thrilled into IMb by the spirit of the 
fiviag God, andidio, becanse he felt the tmth he 


taught, carried with the tide of a reaistlem ttiength 
the hearts and sympathies of his hearers. Men were 
Bnbdued under his heart-inspired and heart-touching 
appeals, and were constrained to bow before the majeaty 
of arguments which caught all their inspiration from 
that divine book which is " able to make wise unto 
salvation, through faith which is in Christ Jesua." 
But Staapitz is not contented that Luther should con- 
fine his lectures to the students. He invites him to 
preach in the Church of St. Augustine, and though the 
young professor shrinks modestly from the proposal, 
his reluctance is at length overcome, and in the Square 
of Wittemburg, in an old wooden chapel, the Reformer 
commenced his preaching of the glorious gospel of the 
grace of God. 

You may see him there in that old pulpit, with 
his noble head and expressive countenance, and digni- 
fied bearing, as he stands commissioned of God to 
make known the mystery of the Gospel, and to 
proclaim tidings which for ages had not been preached 
as he preaches now. Clear and sonorous is hii voice ; 
suitable and arresting is his aciion ; he turns the hearts 
of the listening multitude whatever way he pleases, and 
sways them as one man by the impassioned and im- 
petuous torrent of his eloquence. The efiect of his 
preaching is soon seen. The work of €U>d goes for- 
ward ; a spirit of inquiry is abroad ; and all things are 
bring prepared for that hour when the nations shall 
throw off the bondage of the Papal tyranny, and refuse 
to submit to an oppression which would crush alike 
both the mind and heart. The day was beginning to 
dawn, and broader and more brighUy still the light of 


trotli VM desdned to break oyer the world, and diapel 
Ae daric clonda of sapentitiQii wfaiGfa had so long man- 
tled it in their gloomy pall. Upon the work of the 
Beformation priest and prelate might frown; and 
against its progress h«man exertion and policy might 
take counsel together ; hut the time had come to free 
Boiope from her chains, and God had determined that 
nothing should obstmct the majestic march of troth, or 
prevent the remal of that pure Ghristain faith which 
had been so long entombed under the errors and cor- 
rugations of Rome. 

Bat we hasten to another period of the Reformer*s 
fife. In 1510 Luther received a commission to proceed 
to Borne touching some disputed points between seven 
eonverU of his order, and the Vicar-General. He goes 
as the chosen delegate of the former. What feelings 
most have agitated his enthusiastic mind as he ap- 
pvoached the metrapdis of Christendom, — the seven- 
hilled city: whose ways were trodden by Apostles; 
whose streets were sanctified by the blood of Martyn ; 
where everything was eloquent of great and noble deeds ; 
and where holy and reverent memories were at every 
step awakened in the mind 1 ''When I first beheld 
VUune,** he says, "I fell prostrate to the earth, and 
raising my hands, exclaimed, God save thee, Rome, thou 
seat of the Holy One I Yea, thrice holy, from the 
Uood of the sainted martyrs which have been shed 
within thy walls t" Here he saw the gorgeous magni- 
ficence of the warlike Julius II., who then occupied 
the Papal chair : the church in all her splendour shone 
before his daisied eyes : processions psssed before him 
with rjirdifffl^ and mitred Bishops, with crosses and 



fgiiCB, and flovera and incense. Here were noble 
chorcheB with solemn music, and lighted tapers, and 
rich draperies. Here were holy shrines decorated and 
adorned with the treasures and trophies of centuries. 
But he soon disooTered the corruption which hiy beneath 
this external splendour. The Church may indeed at 
that time be compared to *' a whited sepulchre, which 
outwardly appears beautiful unto men, but within is 
full of dead men's bones and all uncleanness." Rome, 
instead of being, as he fondly hoped, the supreme seat of 
Christian virtue, was, he discoyered, the centre of in- 
fidelity and licentiousness and wrong. Although he still 
regarded the Pontiff as the head of infallibility, yet for 
him the silyer veil was for ever torn from the face of 
the mystery of iniquity ; and there she stood before his 
eyes revealed in all her naked hideousness and de- 
formity. He returned to Wittemburg with a saddened 
and indignant heart, and sought in the Word of the 
Living God that consolation which he could not dis* 
cover in a church deformed and defiled by the lying 
inventions of men. 

But another scene opens before us ; the martial Julius 
is dead, and a new Pope holds high dominion in Rome. 

A monk of the Dominican order, named John Tetzel, 
who was appointed by Albert, Archbishop of Mentz, 
appears in Germany, to sell indulgences for the purpose 
of bringing wealth to the coffers of Pope Leo X. Leo 
being fond of the fine arts, and a man of expensive 
habits, had drawn deeply on the treasures of the Pope- 
dom ; so that to raise money was indispensable, and he 
attempted to do so under the double pretext of war 
against the Turks, and the building of St. Peter's. 


Liige rams were procured by the sale of indnlgenoes 
thronghoatEaropeyand the money was inetantly absorbed 
by the expenditure of the court of Rome. When TeUel 
came into Saxony to make market of hia indulgences, 
and sell release from the guilt of human Crimea, Luther 
at once indignantly opposed him, and determined to lay 
bare his infamous traffic, at yariance as it was with the 
Word of God, and calculated to destroy the morality and 
undermine the yirtue of man. Reaol^ing to state his 
opinions in a series of propositions, he publishes ninety- 
fire of these, embracing the whole doctrine of penance, 
purgatory, and indulgences ; and suspending them ou 
the Church door in one of the thoroughfares of Wittem- 
borg, challenged a public disputation. Great was the 
excitement caused by this startling note of defiance ; and 
so powerful was the authority of the Pope, that eyen 
those who felt that truth was on the Reformer's side 
feared to espouse his cause, or stand by him in the 
moment of danger. And now, mark how finely Luther's 
character comes out in this hour of peril ; see the fruit 
of his eariy diacipline ; behold how he has learnt to look 
danger in the face, and neither to shrink nor blanch at 
the sight I On the one side stands the miner's son alone 
against the world ; on the other, John Tetzel supported 
by the Pope and the Priesthood, and backed by all the 
eiriland religious power of the proud and dominant 
Church. Yet Martin flinches not ; he is like a rock ; 
he is ptrong in the strength of God. He is accused of 
riolenoe and pride ; he is reproached for rashness and 
lerity ; the high and the mighty are against him, the 
learned and the noble oppose him. He is scorned and 
defied, and looked upon as a lawless and reckless monk. 


who derireA to level all ranks and degrees, and to 
trample npon all discipline and ordeir. Eren his own 
friends disapprove of his proceedings. The controversy 
goes on. At length the infamons Tetsel, defeated in 
lirgument, has recourse to vindictive threats: in his 
office of Inqnisitor he pahlidy denounces Luther as a 
heiHic, and sets fire on the scafRdd to the sermons and 
theses of his adversary. Leo X. endeavours to crush 
the obscure professor by contempt. " These theses,** 
said he, ** are written by a drunken Ckrman, who will 
oeabe speaking thus when the fumes of his wine have 
evaporated!*' And what says Luther the while? 
Simply this : — '* If the work Lb God's who can arrest 
it ? If not who can speed it forward ? Not my wiD, 
not theirs, but thine, O holy Father in Heaven !** Here, 
then, we see this man of God armed in the holiness of 
his cause ; inspired by a deep, intense, overpowering 
iove of the truth, and actuated by a (aith as simple as it 
"was divine, standing out alone against Popery in the very 
height of her power ; in an age when the kings of the 
earth put their necks under her yoke, and princes bowed 
in the dust befote the nod of the usurping Pontiff. I 
'know of no more sublime spectacle than that of this 
Mitary man, stirred to tbe very depths of his being by 
the flagitious dealings of a system endowed with tem- 
poral sovereignty, and sustained by all the might and 
pow^ that is of the world, assailing singly and unarmed 
the abominations of the Popedom, and determined to 
rescue the sublime mysteries of the Christian fidth from 
that accumulation of error beneath which they had for 
centuries been buried. And yet, though unsupported by 
hnman help. Lather was not alone. God was with 


liiiii. He '' to whom bdongeth the ahielda of the eaith," 
weft on his side. Nor wee it long before earthly Mends 
were ndaed up to gather round the Beformer and uphold 
hiB cause. The UniTeraity of Wittemburg, almost to a 
^lan, espoused his side. MnitiQ Buoer» already iiunous 
as a scholar, gave in his public adhesion to the new doty 
tiinesy and Frederic the Elector of Saxony became his 
firm end sincere supporter. Nor were these all. The 
German people had listened to the secants of this noble 
man as he entered the lists with Rom^ a champion for 
the noblest rights of humanity, and their hearts echoed 
to the truths which he proclaimed. They had studied his 
writings, prof9un4 ss they were dear, and simple ss 
they were sublime, and they caught something of the 
noUe .spirit with which they were inspired. Hie flame 
lifted in his own bosom gradually communicated 
itsdf from one loind to another, till at length the 
amouldering fire burst forth with a power that would not 
be controlled s and a nation catching, his enthustastio 
ardour, prepared to grapple with all the loroe and fraud 
•f a eomipt and lying Church, which trsmpled on the 
hearts and conseienoes of men, end, robbing the gospel 
of its gieat. central priniaple^ depriTcd it of its power to 
lenew aad save. Thus, through Luther^s pnaohing and 
^ks, a freih li& was infused into Ghristandomi the 
spiendoor of a dirine Cuth burst upon bar mind, and 
shaking heryelf firom ttie slumber of osnturies she 
leadved to be henceforward free, and to take her 
ppoper positipn in the rigltfeons enisade agsinsi 
ignona^ and imposture. And .now, the Vatiasa, 
alsTWifd 1^ the spread of the purs fruth, sMfaqpts to 
crushVy riolaoce the dauntless spirit of. the i«inis*s 


son. Luther is sammoned to appear at Rome befoie 
the Ecdeaiaatical Court within sixty days. He was 
proscribed everywhere, and his adherents were to be 
" burned, cursed, and excommunicated." 

You may not be aware of all the consequences 
resulting to the person laid under the Papal ban. They 
were these: such a man was declared infamous, in* 
capable of performing any lawful act ; was deprived of 
Christian burial ; was stripped of all fiefs that he held ; 
had no home or country ; was to bring a curse on all 
who offered him shelter ; and was exposed to the ven- 
geance of an almost universal power. But Luther 
braved all ; and God so wrought on his behalf that the 
Pope was induced to alter his determination of calling 
him to Rome, and he empowered his legate, De Vio, to 
confer with the Reformer at Augsburg. 

Luther's friends were amazed at the calm courage he 
displayed as he set out upon his anxious journey to appear 
before the legate. At last the day appointed for the im- 
poEtant conference arrives : De Vio is in his palace sur- 
romided by his suite ; for several of the most distinguished 
Italians in the train of this ecclesiastical Prince crowd the 
hall of audience to be present at the interriew. They are 
anxious to see the obstinate Monk at the feet of the 
Papal representative. Luther enters the saloon attended 
by the Prior of the Carmelite convent, and four Mends. 
There is silence throughout the chamber. The Cardinal, 
thinking that Luther is about to recant, forbears to 
apeak> Luther on his part humbly waits for the Nuncio 
to address him. At length the Reformer's voice is 
heard expressing obedience to the Church : acknow- 
ledging that he had published certain theses aad pro* 


positions ; and declaring that he is ready to listen to 
every chai^. The Legate praises his humility, and 
addresses him as an affectionate and forgiving father 
might address his erring and prodigal child. The con- 
ference proceeds. The Cardinal soon discovers the 
^irit he has to deal with, and brave Martin makes the 
polished Italians stare at the undaunted hardihood of 
his speech. They had expected to see the poor Monk 
crouch on bended knee at the footstool of the Legate ; 
they witness the noble bearing of a man who felt that 
God was with him of a truth. To retract, or not to 
retraety that was the great question proposed to Luther 
at this and the succeeding interviews. And what says 
our noble Monk to the wrathful Legate who demands 
that he will renounce the doctrines which he has been 
so boldly teaching ? man of God, let us hear thy 
voice witnessing for the truth of that Saviour whom 
thou lovest ! Thus he speaks : " I have no other will 
than the Lord's, who will dispose of me according to 
his pleasure ; but had I four hundred heads, I would 
rather sacrifice them all, than retract the testimony I 
have borne to the holv faith of Christians." No wonder 
that De Yio shrunk from further conference, and that 
he should determine within himself, as he afterwards 
expressed to Staupitz, ** I will have no more disputing 
with that beast ; for he has deep eyes, and wonderful 
•pecnktion in his head." 

Luther now returns to Wittemburg, and for a time 
there is a pause; the papal partisans are mute, and 
Luther, complying with the request of his friends, dis- 
continued the discussion. At length, Eck, a man of the 
highest academic renown, and who had carried off the 

boDOM of no leN than ^ight UnifenilieB, recoMsmMd 
the oombat. After a diapnte of twmiy daya, ia whuh 
the cfaampioQ of the Pope wwm defeated, Luther deeed 
the diepatation with theae iroida, — "The Rererend 
Doctor fleea from the Scriptorea, as the De?il from befoie 
the crota. Aa for me» with all dae respect to the Fathera» 
I prefer the authority of Holy Writ, and thia teat I wonld 
reoouimend to our Judgea.*' 

But a greater triumph than any obtained oyer the 
aobordinate miniatera of the Papacy it shortly to be wofn 
by the renowned leader of the Reformation ; he is to 
grapple with the whole power of Rome,-*-he ia to brafe 
.thewhole wrath of the Vatican. ThePopepttbliahesabuU 
against Lmther» — ^hia hooka are to be burnt ; it ia made a 
erinie to print, to preach, or CTcn to read hia works: while 
liting he ia to be held infiumoua ; when dead, he is to be 
eoutited unfit for Chriatian burial, and hia aonl, robbed of 
arary hope of salvation, ia to be condemned to the 
quenchless firea of Hell. Eck brings the bull into 
Qcimany $ at some towns it is puUiahed, and Luthei^a 
booka are comtnitted to the fiames ; in others public 
iqiinioa is on the side of Luther, and the people ezpreea 
their feelinga of disgust agunst Eclc, and their deter- 
mination that the bull shall not be proclaimed. And 
how fMa the object of the Papal manifesto ? He writes 
thus to a friend t — " I rejoice that it has fSsJlen to my 
lot to suffer hardships for the best of causes, but I sm 
not worthy of such a trial ; I am now much more at 
liberty than before, being fully persuaded that the Pope 
ia Antichrist, and that I have discovered the seat of 
fiitan." And our brave Martin not only speaks,^— he 
aota too t against the Popa's bull he uttera a protest^ 


appeals to a general ooiiiictl» and calls upon Cfaarlfs» 
Emperor of Oermany, the Elector, Princes, Counts, 
Baions, Knights^ the gentlemen Conncillors, Cities and 
oommanities of the whole German nation, to resist 
vith him the Antichristian conduct of the Pope, for 
the g^ory of God, and the defence of the Chiurch of 
Chnat. Nor is be content with this ; he has defied the 
Pope's anathemaa — ^he will now prove to mankind the 
scorn in which he holds his aathority. The Church had 
tiinut him forth from her bosom ; he accepts the solemn 
divorce^ — he shews to Christendom that hereafter there 
is a gnlf nsTcr to be bridged oyer between him and 
Borne. His own writings have been bomt in many of 
the principal towns, and he is determined to have bis 
bonfire too, whose fiames, mounting beaTcnward, shall 
scatter the night of darknesS} and make the skies red 
with the promise of the approaching dawn. He gives 
public notice that he is about to abjure solemnly the 
Pope and the Papacy. On the 10th of December, 1519> 
at nine in the mornings a great number of the Profesiors 
and Students of the Uniyersity of Wittemburg^ with 
Luther at thehr head, march in graye procession to the 
eastern gate near the Holy Cross t a fbneral pile has 
been prepared ; one of the chief members of the Uni» 
fersity sets fire to it : as the crackling flames rise sloft| 
forth steps Luther^ and approaches the pile with the 
Canon-law in his hand, the Decretals^ the Clementinesi 
the Extravagants, and some writings by Eck and fimser^ 
He consigns them to the burning pile. When these have 
been consumed, be holds forth the infiumons bull of Leo, 
and committing it solemnly to the flrsi exchums, '* Since 


thou bast vexed the Holy One of the Lord, may eTcrlosC- 
ing fire yex and consume thee !" 

And now the Reformation spreads. The thunder of the 
Vatican has been defied ; the hosts that were arrayed 
against the reformer have been baffled ; no despotism, 
even that which had hitherto kept the earth in fetters, 
has been able to crush the moral energy of his soul, or to 
put out the flame which, kindled at the heayenly lamp of 
6od*8|word, burned with celestial fervour in his heart. The 
days of perfect light and liberty are at hand. The reformer 
has given an impulse to Christendom, and the throne 
and tyranny of Rome is about to be shaken to its base. 

But Luther is now to stand for the defence of the 
truth in the presence of the most exalted tribunal in 
Europe. Charles the Fifth, now in possession of the 
imperial throne, in order to gratify the papal legates in 
Germany, summons Luther to the Diet then sitting at 
Worms, to dedare in person whether he will retract or 
adhere to his heretical opinions. His friends try to dis* 
suade him from his journey : for though the Emperor had 
promised him safe conduct, yet they remembered that, 
in spite of every pledge, John Huss, under circumstances 
neariy similar, had been burnt at Constance. But in 
vain they beseech him not to pay attention to the 
Emperors summons: their earnest entreaties produce 
no other result than the famous words : — ** I am re- 
solved and determined to obey the summons, and enter 
the city in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ ; though 
I were confronted by as many devils as there be roof-tUea 
on all the houses of the whole world.*' '* But they will 
bum thee, Luther, to ashes, as they did Huss,'* they said. 


What then ? "If they were to kindle a fire between 
^ttembnrg and Worms, which would reach to the 
heavens, I would still appear in the name of the Lord^ 
and enter the jaws of Behemotlt, and treading be- 
tween his teeth, confess Christ, and leave him to do all 
his pleaaore/' 

And now Luther commences the most memorable of 
his joorpeys ; a nation's heart goes with him. He b 
sent forth with a thousand blessings, and as he proceeds 
the population of the Tarioas towns through which h6 
passes comes out to meet him, and commend him to 
the protection of God. On the 1 6th of April, he enters 
Worms. Attired in his cowl, and seated in an open 
chariot, with the imperial herald on horseback leading 
the way, he was escorted by a procession of Saxon 
nobles, and the people. On the next day he attends 
the Diet; the crowd is so great that the streets are. 
impassable, and the only access to the HaU of Assembly 
is through gardens and private houses ; every roof is. 
covered by spectators, and when he loaches the ante- 
chamber he is surrounded by an assemblage of more than 
5000 people, composed of various nations, — Italians, 
Germans, Spaniards. As he stands amongst the 
thronging crowd, waiting till the door is opened, which 
shall admit him into the presence of his judges, a 
vsliant Knight, George of Freundsburg, taps him on. 
the shoulder, and shaking his head blanched in many 
battles, says kindly, ** Poor Monk ! poor Monk ! thou 
art going to make a nobler stand than I, or any other 
Ci^itain has ever made in the bloodiest of our battles : 
but if thy cause is just, and thou art sure of it, go 
forward in God's name, and fear nothing 1 God will not 


foniketbeeP' At lesgth tbe portal undofles, and lie Is 
HsheKd into the august assembly: the world's prucea 
are there, men of rank and powerj men vested with staSe 
and dignity, and whose names are familiar throughovft 
Dnropeu There aits the Emperor Charles the RfUu 
whose sceptre sways extensive territories both in ^i# 
<lld world and the new ; and there is his brother, the 
Archduke Ferdinand : there are also the Bleeton of the 
empire, Dukes and Margraves, Bishops and Archbiahops^ 
Ambassadors representing seven nations, including 
England and France, Counts and Barons, Legates hma 
the Court of Rome, and many persons of eminenee and 
rank. Through an avenue formed of such an impoa* 
ing assemblage, down that noble hall, advanoes Mavtia' 
Luther, and takes his stand before the imperial throne. 
All eyes are fsstened on the noble man : you may observe 
some traces of emotiDn, as he finds himself alone in the 
niidst of this dasiling court ; but all agitation soon sub* 
aides ; he is ascalm as though fear were a passion unknown 
to his valiant soul. It may be that the splendour ixt 
the scene has fkded from his eyes, and that the pneena 
of sovereigns and princes are lost ip the thought that 
he stands in a higher presence still,'— before the King ef 
Kings, and Lord of Lords, for whose truth's sake he ia 
to witness before Christendom this day. What, then, 
oan he be but calm and dauntless? " If God be for him 
who can be against him?** like another Paul, he 
stands in the imperial hall of Worms, before kings and 
priests, and his cheek blanches not, and his eye droops 
not, and his brow is as dear as a Midsummer lake, and 
in its fearless front gives doqoent inteipretation of the- 
nnquailing i^iril that lodges in Uie great heart wiUiin. - 

Tw4 qutelidns ore propoied to Yarn by the cbaooenor 
Q^tiie Arehlimhop of Tr^vei ;-^^ whether be owned him- 
self the AQthor of the books beariag hie Dame? And 
whether he wai diipoeed to fetrsct or permt in their 
Mwtente ?'* To the fonner Lather At onoe answered in 
the affirmstif e ; to the hitter be demanded that time 
dnndd be giten for reply. The reqaest is granted, 
attd the meeting is adjoorned to the following day^ 

At length the erentftd morning of the I8(ii dawns. 
Has Isith seems to fsO, — a great internal straggle is 
mging widiift : bat be knows where to look for aid : 
hefaUs on the groand : like his Sayioor in the garden, 
hentteis "strong crying with tears :" in the greatness of 
hb agony his sool wrestles with God ; he will not let 
him go nntil be has obtained a blessing : — '* God ! 
God !" he cries, ** help me, it is not my work, but thine — 
O my God, where art tboa ?— come, come, I am ready to 
lay down my life for thy troth, patient as a lamb-— I 
will nerer separate myself from thee, either now or 
thioagh eternity. Thoogh the world shoald be filled 
with derils ; thoogh my body, whieh is still the work 
«f thy hands, shoald be slain, be stretched upon tbe 
pafement, be cat in pieces, redaced to ashes, my 9aui 
la thine— n^ sool belongs to thee ; it shaU abide fof 
erer with thee— Amen, O God help me, Amen I" Peace 
flows into bis mind again, — he rejoices, he ezolts that he 
is to bear testimony for Christ. As the hoar for his 
appearance draws near, he approaches a table on which 
lies a Bible : npon the sacred Tdame he i^aces bis left 
•hand: he raises his tig^t towards bearen, and swears to 
lemain fidthfal to the goapel, and to oonfeas yaliaifttly 
the ftitb, even thoogh he shoaldhave to seal that eott* 
fession with his blood. 


Again be is before' tbe Amembly. As be had 
been obliged to wait tome boun wbile tbe Diet 
was occupied on otber bunneas, tbe nigbt baa fallen 
before be takea bia place tbe second time before tbe 
imperial conrt. Torcbes are ligbted in tbe Hall of 
Assembly, and give an imposing effect to tbe wbole 
scene ; tbeir ligbt is tbrown upon ancient window and 
gotbic arcb, npon groined pillar and marble pavement, 
and lends a pictorial effect to tbe official robes and 
splendid costumes of Prince and Palatine and Knigbt. 
Above all it falls on the massive brow of tbe soUtary 
Monk, who in the sublimity of bis faith bravea tbe 
frown and is regardless of tbe favour of tbe world. 

** There he stands 
In oonfirmatiQp of the noblest claim ; 
Our claim to feed upon immortal truth, 
To walk with Gh>d, to be divinelj free, 
To soar and to anticipate the skies." 

And now again the Chancellor asks him whether be 
will defei^ his writings, or whether he will recant. 
And tbe answer is given boldly, in that clear sonorous 
voice of his : — " I can only say, that unless I be con- 
vinced by Scripture, (for I can put no faith in Popes 
and councils, as it is evident^ that they have frequently 
erred, and even contradicted each other) unless my 
conscience be convinced by tbe word of God, I cannot 
and I will not retract, for it is unsafe for a christian to 
speak against bis conscience." And then, looking ronnd 
with all the magnificent bearing of a man who has tbe 
cause of God and of Christ in bis hands, and who feels 
that the' ti^th must be upheld at tbe haaard of his lifej 


he adds : — ^Here I stand, I cannot do otherwise, may 
God help me^ Amen V* 

It being found impossible to bend the iron will of 
the Reformer to their wishes — it being discovered that 
he will neither be threatened into obedience, nor por- 
soaded into submission — he is commanded to depart 
from Wonns within twenty-one days, and is promised 
safe conduct till this period has elapsed.* A few days 
after he had left Worms a severe decree is published in 
the Emperor's name, by the authority of the Diet, pro- 
claiming Luther a schismatic and heretic, forbidding 
sny Prince to offer him harbour or protection, and re« 
quiring all men to give their aid in his seizure as soon 
as the term specified in the safe conduct had expired. 
As the Reformer, on bis way with his friends to Wittem- 
burg, is journeying qaietly along the border of the 
Thuringian forest, he and the rest of the party are 
startled by a sudden noise, and immediately five 
horsemen wearing masks, and armed from hesd to foot, 
spring upon the travellers. Luther is seized, pulled 
riolently from the waggon in which he is seated, placed 
upon a horse which is standing ready to receive him, 
and hurried by his assailants into the gloomy forest. 
He is conducted to a lofty and isolated fortress named 
the Wartburg, and situated on the summit of one of the 
mountains near to Eisenach. The bolts are drawn, the 
iron bars fall, the ponderous gates roll back, the Re- 
former passes the threshold, and the doors close behind 

* To ondentaud the full danger of Lather's position at the 
Diet of Worms, we must remember that Charles Y . on his death- 
bed regretted that he had kept fidth with that heretic Luther. 

Vide M'Crie's Befisnnation in Spain. 


him. He finds, however, that he is amongst Mends. 
The Elector Frederic, fearing that the maEce of his 
enemies vould plot new schemes for his deatmction, 
has in ihis singular manner secored the person of the 
Reformer, and provided a secret asylum where he m^y 
reside safely till the first fary of the storm has expended 
its rage. Here Lather is made to put on die military 
costume in exchange for his ecclesiastical rohes: his 
hair and beard are allowed to grow, in order that no one 
in the castle might be able to recognize him, and he is 
known only to the people in the Wartburg by the title 
of the ''knight George.*' There is one prolonged cry 
of grief throughout Germany for the Reformer. He 
has suddenly disappeared, and no one can say what has 
become of him. Astonishment and indignation fill all 
hearts, and the cause of the Reformation seems lost 
with its champion. But God's ways are not as man's 
ways, nor His thoughts as man's thoughts. Re has 
work for his servant to do in this solitary and retired 
castle. To use the words of D'Aubign^, "That same 
God who had conducted St. John to Patmos, there to 
write his Revelation, had confined Luther in the Wart- 
burg, there to translate His word.'* Luther knew the 
value of the Bible,--4t was the well-spring at which he 
imbibed aU spiritual life and consolation ; its waters 
had been streams of life to his own soul, and he longed 
that they should burst forth, and gladden and refresh 
a parched and weary world. '' Would," he exclaimed, 
" would that this one book were in every language, in 
every hand, before the eyes and in the hearts of all 
men !" He applied himself to the great work of trans- 
lating the Bible into German ; applied himself prayer- 



folly and heartily, and in after years, through the 
blessing of the Lord upon his labours, his translation 
-was completed, and he placed in the hands of the people, 
and in their mother tongue, that same Tolume which is 
the charter of man's hope; his guide in life; his 
support in death ; the pole-star which conducts him 
safely through the shoals and breakers of time to the 
peacefhl haven of Eternity ! Nor was it to his own 
country alone that he restored the book of GK>d, which 
is the book of life to the soul, evolying a world of 
beauty out of a chaos of disorder ; for tbe Word of 
Truth went forth from land to land, and has been the 
author of spiritual life to millions, for generation after 
generation ; containing all needful supphes of grace for 
the deepest wants of the oraying beart, and eyer-flowing 
streams of imperishable comfort f6r tbe imperishable 
soul of man. 

But at length the time arriyes when he is to leave the 
Wartbui^. His- energetic spirit droops under tbe 
monotony of his seclusion ; he longs once more to join 
the active battle, to front the rancour of his enemies, 
and to buckle on his armour for tbe fight. Rumours 
reach him that some of the friends of the Reformation, 
more especially Carlstadt, are doing harm to the cause 
by a headstrong violence and fanatic extravagance, and 
he believes tbat his presence is required to restrain their 
wild and disorderly excesses. Therefore, although lying 
under the two-fold ban of the Pope and the Empire, he 
leaves his place of security, and appears at Wittemburg, 
on the public arena of conflict, not to excite, but to 
calm and quell the passions of men, and to advance by 
his personal influence and unfaiHng efforts the mighty 



otnae of God and of mankind. He auooeeded in allaying 
the commotion; the people could not withatand the 
well-known Toice, or that convincing eloquence of 
diction by which they had first been led into new regions 
of thought. And now, having by his wiadom and 
moderation, and heroic magnanimity, restored peace and 
order, he threw himself, aa he did at the beginning, 
heart and soul into the stru^le with Rome, — ^astro^le 
not for policy or power, not for sects or schools, not 
for rank or fame ; but for what transcended all, aa much 
as the heavenly surpasses the earthly,— a struggle for 
truth againat error, life against death, the cross against 
the crucifix, religion against superstition. And he pre- 
vailed. He purified the Church. He won Uesaings 
for mankind. He saw some of the fruits of his labours : 
the work which he commenced went on from the 
first progressively ; has gone on through more than 
the three hundred years during which he has 
taken his place among the bright ranks of the redeemed 
in glory, the glorious company of the Apostles, the 
noble army of Martyrs, the goodly feUowship of the 
Prophets ; and will go on, Ood willing, for centuries to 
come. Gradually the scales that blinded them feU from 
men's eyes, and the manacles that fettered them w^re 
burst asunder. Their souls were disenthralled from the 
despotism which sought to keep them in bondage, and 
one nation after another, and our own beloved island 
among the foremost, at length asserted their inde- 
pendence of the Bishop of Rome, and proclaiming them- 
selves free, dashed aside the unrighteous fetters in 
which they had been so long enslaved. 
The spread of the true faith may be illustrated by one 


of those scenes of beauty aod grandeur which are com* 
men in the Alpine ranges of Switzerland. You stand 
before daybreak on some lofty mountain summit of that 
sublime country ; the grey mists lie floating over the 
▼alleys ; Alp upon Alp towers around you, wreathed in 
Ti^ur, vast, indistinct^ and formless like mighty giants 
in their shrouds. Suddenly a deep purple line foretell* 
ing the dawn appears in the East. The sun shines 
above the horizon* and as he rises higher and higher, 
one peak after another catches his rays, and coming 
out clear and defined glows with a rosy splendour until 
the whole panorama is lit up with an almost intolerable 
radiance ; and lake and valley, glacier and mountain, lie 
bathed before you in one brilliant flood of glory. So 
with the RefDrmation ; the moral darkness was gradually 
dispelled; oneland after another,one country afteranother 
in Europe, caught the rays of a dinne faith from heayen, 
and though we have not yet reached the noonday when 
all darkness shall be dispelled, yet the light increases, 
and time hastens onwards to the dawning of that blessed 
period when the noxious clouds of error shall all of them 
diaperse and roll away before the bright beams of truth, 
leaving the nations of Christendom and of the world 
to bask in the lustre and loveliness of the knowledge of 
the glory of God, as mirrored in and reflected back 
from the person of Jesus Christ. 

But I must hasten to its close a lecture which has 
already made too large demands on your patience and 
your time. Having to address you on a subject so rich 
in matter, so sugj^estive of thought, as the life of the 
great Reformer, I found it impossible to do more than 
bring befidre your attention some of the more salient 
and striking points in his history. Much of the deepest 


interest has necessarily been omitted. I should hare 
liked to haye spoken to yon of the gentle charities of 
his domestic and conjugal life, for in order to break off 
as completely as possible from the inventions of the 
papacy^ Luther determined to become a husband ; he 
sav that marriage was an institntion of Gk>d, celibacy 
an institution of man. Therefore, in defiance of the 
reproach and calumny it would bring upon him per- 
sonally, he married, at the age of 42, Cadierine Bora, who 
had some time before abandoned the cloistered life, and 
embraced the reformed faith. Luther, by this first step 
towards abolishing the celibacy of the clergy, did much 
to restore the sanctity of the married state, and to put 
an end to abuses of the foulest and grossest kind. But 
I must not stop to speak of the happiness of that 
domestic life which he now enjoyed, nor must I dwell on 
the playful buoyancy of a nature which gladdened as with 
a sunbeam the social circle ; nor on the noble heroism, 
the poetic sympathies, and impassioned enthusiasm, 
which all blended in the character of this truest of 
heroes, animated by as noble a soul lis eyer man received 
from Gk>d, and who, endowed with the " spirit of power, 
and of love, and of a sound mind,** gave an impulse to 
the world, whose effects shall be felt to the furthest 
generations ; yea, even until that solemn and august 
hour when tlie Angel of the Apocalypse, *' planting one 
foot on the land, and the other on the sea, shall lift up 
his hand to Heaven, and swear by him that liveth for 
ever and ever, that time shall be no more !" 

But I forbear ; — I dose with the last scene of all, his 
death ! How shall such a man die ? with what feelings 
shall such an honoured servant of God contemplate his 


tpproachiog end ? As a man with *' hii loins girt, and 
bis lamp burning." Like another christian hero before 
him, who in the olden time, when his departure was 
at hand» was willing to be offered, and longed to be 
*' absent from the body and present with the Lord." 
Hear what our aged reformer says, in a letter to a friend 
written in the year 1546, when he had reached his 63d 
winter, and his firame, exhausted by labour, and long 
racked by a painful complaint, is about to give way. 
'^Old age is with me, and he is always infirm and 
deoeitfol, weak and sickly. The pitcher after long use 
must at last be broken at the fountain ; I have lived long 
enough, and only wait till Gh)d shall grant me that 
bkaaed hour, when my worthless body shall be gathered 
to my people." And again he spake thus from the 
pu^it : — ** I am weary of the world, and the world is 
weary <tf me ; it is therefore easy to part, as the traveller 
leaves the inn for his much-loved home ;" and he re- 
quested the people, should he be taken ill, not to pray 
for his recovery. On the 1 7th of February in this year, 
he became so ill that his friends dissuaded him from 
going out. In the evening he conversed much with 
thfMe around him on his approaching death, and on the 
recognition of friends in a fbture state, and before 
lying down remained a long time in prayer. He sleeps 
for a little while, and upon awakening at eleven, gives 
utterance in a fervent tone of voice to the words which 
were last upon his Saviour's lips : " Into thy hands I 
eommend my spirit. Lord Ood of Truth I*' He sleeps 
again ; at one o'clock he awakes, and after a choking 
cij that he is very iU, and his respiration difficult, he 
^j>Uim« thrice, " Lord into thy hands I commend my 


Spirit!*' A fHend asks him impreadyelyy ''Moat 
reverend Father, can you die with firm confidence in 
Christ, and the doctrines you have taught ?'* He givea an 
audihle answer in the affirmative, but again drops into 
silence, and appears to slumber. They call him by his 
name ; he replies not. His breath is drawn more deeply, 
but quietly still ; and with hands folded together he 
falls asleep in Jesus between two and three the same 
night ; and without a struggle to break the awful repose 
of lus tranquil countenance, his great spirit passes 
almost imperceptibly away into the presence of the 
Ood who gave it. 

We leave him there on his death-bed at Bisleben,-*Hi 
warrior in his shroud. He has fought the fight, he has 
finished his course, he has kept the faith. Why speak 
of funeral pomp, and solemn procession, and dirge-like 
hymn, as idl that remains of him is escorted to Wittem* 
burg amid the tears and lamentations of the noblest and 
the best ? Why speak of the honours with which this 
defender of the faith was laid in the silent tomb, or of 
the pictures and monuments which were to be memo- 
rials of his fame to posterity ? It was well, indeed, that a 
grateful people should display the highest reverence for 
his memory, and tell out their gratitude for the blessings 
he secured to them, in a manner the most expressive ; 
but it needed not the breathing marble, nor the sculp* 
tured brass, nor the glowing picture, to keep alive the 
recollection of his deeds : they will live till time shall 
be no more. His grave, — ^it was not merely in the tomb 
where they laid his ashes, — it was in the heart of the 
people to whom he gave back the heritage of gospel 
truth. His monument, — ^it was not such merely as the 


designer might draw, and the Bcnlptor m^ht carve, — ^it 
was one that could never cmmble, nor decay, nor be 
effiieed : it was, it is, " Thb Bbpormation." 

Bat I cannot condade without saying that a great 
practical lesson is to be derived from Luther's history. 
It is this : that it was the life of Qod in his soul 
that made^him what he was. True he had an innate 
loftiness of nature ; a deep meditative spirit ; a will, 
which once fixed was inflexible ; self-reliance and mas- 
culine independence of soul ; vigorous . moral courage, 
and an energy of mind and body which led him 
on to achieve whatever he deemed it right to under- 
take. And these predominating elements in his cha- 
mcter rendered him a fit instrument in the hand of 
God for the great work he was to accomplish. But 
had these natural virtues alone composed his character, 
hia name had never descended to the latest ages as one 
eonunanding the reverence and respect of men. It 
was because the new principle of a dirine life informed 
all his being that he became the great Reformer. Like 
any other monk of his time, he might have worn out 
his days in his solitary cellt occupied with the wearisome 
round of rites and ceremonies with which Rome bur- 
thens her priests ; or at best engaged in illuminating 
soDM carious manuscript, or recording the life of some 
legendary saint whom the church had canonized ; but 
the thunder of the Vatican had never been braved in 
the holy warfare against error, had not the radiance of 
gospel light beamed in brightly upon his soul. It was 
when he saw the cardinal doctrine of the atonement in 
all its clearness ; when the great truth of justification 
by £uth burst upon his mind ; when Jesus Christ rose 

40 If ARTIK Lt;T8Ell. 

in hie heart, the bri^t day star of salfation, and he 
knew himaelf a pardoued man, that he felt there waa a 
work for him to do from which he dared not shrink^ 
be the consequences what they might. The truth had 
been manifested to his own mind, and he felt himself 
constrained by all that was holy and righteous to make 
it known to others, and to spread once mogre abroad, 
through the length and breadth of the world, that joy- 
ful sound of " Glory to God in the highest, on earth 
peace, good-will towards men!** which had so long 
ceased to gladden the ears and to thrill the hearts of 
mankind. And why do I dwell upon this point? In 
order to impress upon you, my friends, the duty of 
seeking earneptly, and preserring faithfully aa your 
dearest treasure, that new life which is the source of all 
that is truly deserving the name of great and glorious. 
It is in the strength of that faith which comes frt>m 
Hearen, that man can alone carry out the great end of 
existence, and bring glory to God. I know that great 
earthly deeds may be performed without this inner 
principle; that a man may be a noble Btate8man> 
shaking the senate with his eloquence ; a victorious 
warrior, winning every garland from the hand of fame ; 
an enthusiastic patriot, dying in defence of his country's 
hearths and homes, and that he may live in the page 
of history, from generation to generation, and yet not 
possess the faith and love which flow down from ^^ the 
seven spirits which are before the throne." But what 
are all earthly deeds, all human fame, compared with 
the religion that makes, nay, that is the life ; which is 
a substance, a reality, a truth, and which when the 
noblest things of the world shall be absorbed in the 


great gnlf of forgetfblnesft, shall partake of an undying 
eDdnrance? The earnest believer, though his position 
be obecure, though he has no larger platform than the 
shop, and no vider sphere than the desk, by his fidth** 
fill discharge of his daily duties^ by his patient sub- 
ndaston, by his untarnished integprity, brings forth 
deeds ▼hich are woven into the golden web of 6od*s 
remembrance, and shall meet with an eternal recom- 
pense of reward. The righteous," it is said, *' shall 
be had in everlasting remembrance." Seek, then, not 
" the honour which cometh from men, but the honour 
which oometh from God." Strive to belike Luther in 
the simple grandeur of his fiuth ; in the holy energy 
of his love. Tou cannot be assimilated to him in 
the external circumstances of your several lives, but you 
may be in the internal life which he drew from God. 
Tour Divine Master has not summoned you to the 
poaition which the Reformer occupied, oi entrusted 
you with the work which he was called upon to do, 
but you have all your peculiar mission, and this you 
may perform with honour to yourselves and advantage 
to your fellow-men. Tou are provided with plenty of 
scope for glorifying God in the daily duties of life, in 
its daily sacrifices and self-denial, and each of you can 
do something as members of a Christian community to 
help on the cause of order, and freedom, and truth, 
and to give a sensible impulse to whatever is good in 
the onward progress of the times. ** Quit you then 
like men," — Christian men, " and be strong." The 
fountain, at which the Reformer drank in aU the inspi- 
ration of hia faith, is open to you. The same Saviour 
with his boundless love is yours ; the same spirit with 


Hif energising power ; the same Bible vitb its etemai 
tmthft ; the eame throne of grare to which you can 
approach ai boldly ; and if yon think and feel and act 
aa he did» aa men actuated by the love of God, yoma 
shall be the same sentence of approbation at the laat 
great day of accoont, and no higher can be imagined 
or desired,—^ Well done, good and faithfol aenrant, 
enter thou into the joy of thy Lord !" 


" Here Martyn lies ! In manhood's eorlj bloom 
The Christian hero found a Pagan tomb ; 
Beligion, sorrowing o'er her faTonrite son, 
Points to the glorioos trophies wfaidi he won ; 
Eternal trophies, not with sknghter red. 
Not ttainad with tears by hopeless captives shed, 
But trophies of the Cross. For that dear name 
Thro* ererj form of danger, death, and shame^ 
Onward he journeyed to a happier shore, 
Where danger, death, and shame, are known no more.' 


Oir the last occasion when I had the pleasure of ad- 
dressing you, my subject was the life of that " solitary 
monk who shook the world/' and who was the instru- 
ment nnder God of giving back to Christendom the 
heritage of religious truth. Martin Luther, the son of 
the miner of Mansfeldt, — ^whose great heart was inflamed 
by a zeal kindled at no earthly altar, and in whose 
breast there straggled the ennobling influences of a 
heaFen-born faith, which urged him onwards in his 
righteous aggression against Rome,—- then demanded our 
sympathies, and claimed our attention. 

This evening I have selected as my theme another 
miner's son,— Henry Martyn, whose father originally 
woiked as a common labourer in the mines of Gwenap, 


in Cornwall. The lives of these two men of God, their 
characters, their vocation in the world, were as dissimi- 
lar as the ages in which their several lots were cast. 
Round Luther there gathers more of a chivalrous and 
romantic interest. The century in which he lived, giving 
hirth to gr^at men and great events j the magnificence 
of the Papal throne, against which he entered into con- 
flict ; his imperial soul, which no power could fetter, and 
no t3nranny could daunt ; his far-piercing intellect, which 
detected and laid hare the most suhtle and astute 
sophistries of Rome's most celehrated priests; that 
energy, that endurance, which have gained for him 
a wide-world fame, — all comhine to invest his history 
with a vivid and peculiar attractiveness. 

Far different is it with the comparatively uneventful 
life of Henry Martyn. He moves in a more contracted 
sphere. His deeds rivet not the eyes of Europe. He 
fronts no kings, is hrought hefore no rulers ; he achieves 
no exploits of daring ; his name helongs rather to the 
home circle of the church than to the vaster arena of the 

And yet I trust that we shall find much to ani- 
mate, to encourage, to ennohle, in the record of 
that more limited career through which he was 
enabled to serve and glorify his God. The humblest 
flower that lies in beauty at our feet has its divine 
teachings, as well as the brightest star which shines in 
the firmament above. 

It comes not within my power to-night to adduce 
thrilling statements of human enterprise, or to tell of 
deeds of heroic daring, such as make the pulse beat high 
and the heart throb quick : though I shall have to apetik 
of sacrifice and endurance ; and of a man who, though 


of himself obscure, was rendered noble by the glory of 
a divine love, which inspired and upheld him in the 
cause of God and of his Christ. 

There are names in ecclesiastical biography far more, 
conspicuous than his who is to engage oiur attention ; 
bat I doubt much whether any one of them, though 
some belong to those who sleep in the martyr's grave, 
and wear the martyr's crown, ever laid himself more 
willingly " a living sacrifice" on the altar of the Lord, 
and more readily surrendered love, and fame, and 
country, at the call of what he believed to be a duty, 
than did Henry Martyn. 

From the great world without there are often borne 
to our ears high-sounding words about heroes and heroic 
deeds } and if yon ask the world for the men it dignifies 
with the title, and whose names are written down amongst 
its annals, it will point you to the man of high daring 
and lofty enterprise ; to the conqueror on the red field 
of war ; or to the patriot who bravely defends the altars 
and the homes of his native land. And I am not in- 
sensible to the charms that invest the chivalrous deed 
or the patriotic exploit ; and the heart must be cold and 
dull which does not kindle as it thinks of the soldier 
who, not for a selfish end, not that he may. weave the 
laurel round his own brow, but like that venerable old 
man who was lately laid in the grave with a nation's 
tears, goes forth at the call of his country, to dare, to 
sacrifice, to endure, only so far as she commands, and 
having performed his mission returns home again to 
repose gratefully amongst the citizens whose rights he 
has defended, and whose liberties he has secured. 
The heroic element exists in such a character, and 


demands our warmeet recognition. True greatness is 
not to be measured by cities ravaged, and nations coiv> 
quered, and villages overrun in order tbat one man maj 
set his individual self on a pedestal which culminates 
above the worid ; but rather is it to be looked at through 
the light of self-sacrifice, when the strongest ties are 
broken, and the fondest hopes are quenched ; and danger 
is braved, and toil is endured, that others may benefit 
by the peril that has been encountered, and the en- 
joyment that has been renigned. And if this spirit of 
sel^4acrifice must enter into the character of every one 
who deserves the name of hero, then where are we to 
turn for the most striking illustrations of this virtue ? 
where shall we find the most touching records of men 
who with no earthly reward in prospect, with no hope of 
public honour, or glory, or gain, have trampled on every 
selfish thought, content to bear all that wrings the heart 
or wears down the firame : yea, to be brought face to face 
with death, that others may obtain blessings only to be ob- 
tained through their loss. Where are we to tmm for 
such examples as these ? Not to the red scutcheon on 
which is emblazoned the name of the warrior; jiotto the 
marble monument on which is engraven the form of the 
statesman, however deserving he may have been, and 
however worthy a place in the great heart of a nation's 
love, but to the record of some Missionary Society, where 
I read of men who have forgotten kindred and cotmtiy, 
and all that is most dear in life, and have hastened to 
polar snows, and to burning sands, that they may carry 
the tidings of salvation to the benighted and degraded 
of their race, not shrinking even firom death, but " hazard- 
ing their lives for the name of the Lord Jesus Christ" 


Poetry may pour the full splendour of its impassioned 
praise o?er the patriotism of a Tell, who, fearless as the 
slonii which plays round one of the mountain summits 
of the glorious country of his hirth^ wrenched the iron 
yoke of foreign despotism from his native land ; or may 
weave into its melodious stiains the deeds of that other, 
and not less nohle, Swiss,* who, that a breach might be 
made in the serried line of the enemy, sprang forth from 
the ranks, and opening wide his arms clasped to his 
heart as many as possible of the foemen's spears ; giving 
them bis own breast for a living shoath> that his country 
might be saved. 

Or it may chaunt the fame of Christopher Columbus 
who braved the dangers of an untravelled sea that he 
might find a readier path to the rich and gorgeous East ; 
and whose adventurous spirit was at length rewarded by 
seeing a Dew woild rising majestically up out of the 
bosom of the deep. 

Every one admires, and every one is ready to extol, 
these magnanimous feats of chivalrous devotion and 
mighty enterprise ; but if we embalm in our memories 
the names of thoee who have thus won for themselves a 
page in the history of the world, shall we not esteem 

* Arnold of Winkehied. 

<• He of bttttie-martyn obief I 
Who, to recall hi« daunted p€ecB, 
For yictory shaped an open space, 
By gathering, with a wide embrace, 
Unto his single heart, a sheaf 
Of fatal Austrian spears." 



worthy of our admiration and our praise the zeal of the 
Christian Missionary, who breaks up every fondest as- 
sociation that he may encounter the perils of the ocean, 
the hardships of unhealthy climes, and intercourse with 
the savage and the barbarous, — having but the one 
holy object in view, that of telling the simple story 
of the cross in the ears of those perishing mUlions 
who are ignorant of the grace and riches of the love of 

Is not a Brainard, a Schwartz, a Williams, all of them 
martyrs in spirit, and one of them in terrible reality, 
deserving a niche in the temple of fame ; and should 
not their names have a place on the starry bead-roll 
which is consecrated to those who have been the bene- 
factors of mankind ? And Martyn, who forms the sub- 
ject of my lecture to-night ; Martyn, who, though 
crowned with the highest honours a University could 
bestow, and distinguished by talents which attracted the 
admiration of one of our most celebrated seats of learn- 
ing, joyfully abandoned the shades of academic renown 
for a tempestuous ocean and a burning clime, that every 
energy of mind and body might be devoted to the service 
of the cross ; shall we not venerate his memory, and give 
him a foremost place amongst the objects of our regard ? 
As we advance in his history, it will be seen by you all 
that he was endowed with a patience, a fortitude, a hu- 
mility, a love, a zeal for the divine glory and the sal- 
vation of men, such as has not been often paralleled since 
the days that Apostles trod the earth, and made mani- 
fest in every place the savour of the knowledge of Jesus 


Qemry Vtatyn. was- bara io Traro, in Uib counliy of 
Ccmnndl^ m tlie- year 178h being (he third child of a 
amaenMU iuaily Hie fiuheiv a man in humble life> 
mth little- edacatioa». appean to. h^^re been gifted by 
BttBTO with a large diare el energy, mental at- well as 
piiyaical.; - forit ia leeorded that he seised on- every period' 
Qf.vdaxaiieo fiaom maimal lahenrvand devoted it to the. 
ftafrowmuent of hie miad^ Byi his own exertions he 
nosed hinMelf from a, state of fwexiy and depression to 
OBa of eampaiativiei ease aod eomfortr and obtained a< 
tttaatiiiii as (^ief clerk in the office of one Mr. DanieU 
a merchant o/ Tmiso* 

Litde is known, of Henxy Marlyn's' childhood, nor is 
theaa aay fiiU aoeooat of his sohool^days.. There is 
mengh, however^ to tell us that he was a boy of a natural 
Rntleieas of epirity— "inferior to most of his companions 
in bf>dily etmngth^. of good abilities, but. of little appli- 
cation*. 1 1 is enident that -even as a^ hey he was not with<- 
Qut at oeitaiaj msolnteDesi of will, for wh^ he was be- 
tweso feurteeD'aod fitfeen years of age he, went to offer 
bioself for a candidate-for ainaoant soholamhip at Corpus 
Christi Coll^ge^.Oxford* Though so young, and without 
vy inteseat- in the UniFersity, and. with- only a single 
bUer to one of the tutors, he went there alone; and 
though he was unsuoeeesfnl in his object, yet, with, able 
^Vpooents, he passed so good an- examination that some 
of his examiners thought he ought to hare been elected. 

Them was, however, a' special Pixnridence overmling 
Us fiuiure at this time. Had he sucoeeded, the whole 
^fhv of his fiiture life would have been changed, and 
^ t|iiiitual welfere would have been injured by his tem* 


poral success. He confesses to this himselfy in an ac- 
count prefixed to his private journal many years after. 
'' Had I remained, and become a member of the Uni- 
versity at that time, as I should have done in case of 
success, the profligate acquaintances I had there would 
ha?e introduced me to scenes of debaucheiy, in which I 
must, in all probability, from my extreme youth, have 
sunk for ever." But God was merciful to him, and 
withheld him from a sphere in which even he, with all 
his pure instincts and earnest aspirations, would have 
sunk down into all that is degrading ; making, like too 
many others who have been exposed to the fires of temp- 
tation, his body the grave and sepulchre of his soul. 

He was just at that time of life when the character is 
most susceptible of impressions for good or evil. And 
had he come in contact with associates who would have 
fostered his worser impulses> had his mind been cor- 
rupted by those whose great pleasure it is to make the 
innocent as vile as themselves^ he might have been tram- 
melled for ever in the bondage of evil, and have gone 
down to an unhonoured tomb, " wounded and slain by 
the sins of his youth." The Lord was with his young 
servant ; and when, two years after, he became a student 
of Si. John's College, Cambridge, the circle into which 
he was introduced was one to advance rather than to 
retard his best interests ; while the true friendships he 
formed there lasted through life, and many of them are 
now renewed in eternity. I believe there is nothing 
that tells so much upon our after career as the friends we 
make when first we leave the domestic circle and are 
thrown upon the world. We are all so constituted as 


members of the human fiunily, that we are acted upon 
hj the companions with whom we associate, and become 
in a measure assimilated to those into whose society we 
are much thrown. This is a truth which I would 
impress on the youthful portion of my hearers. I 
would beseech them, with all earnestness, to beware of 
selecting as firiends any whose moral principles are not 
flomid, any who care nothing for the salvation of that 
soul for which Christ died. Be not induced to choose 
your companions, as many do, for the brilliancy of their 
talents, or the fascination of their address, or because 
they possess endowments and advantages which render 
them attractive and prejKMsessing. The very thing 
which clothes their friendship with so much danger is 
the specious charm with which they can invest sin, and 
the subtle grace which they can throw round a false or 
an infidel sentiment. There is no surer way to wring 
the hearts of all who long for your best interests, no 
sorer way to bring a blight upon your prospects here and 
hereafter, no surer way to lay up reproach and remorse 
for yourselves in after days, than to associate with the 
Keptic just because he happens to be witty, or with the 
WDsnalist just because he can make himself entertaining ; 
and to suffer yourselves to be seduced from the paths of 
rirtue by the profane and the scornful, who delight to 
get hold of the young and inexperienced, and to make 
them " twofold more the child of hell than themselves." 
See that you consort willingly with none but the wise, 
the virtuoas, the righteous ; with those whose aspirations 
ve high, and whose aims are holy, — whoset reasure is in 
heaven, and whose ''affections are set upon things 

f 9. ^KRX ¥4%TZK^ 

^v^y I would enfoifpe my vqx43 V lemi^diog.youi 
o/ tb^ sutemenjc q( tbe,4posU^ Paul :.. " EyUqppiiiMm-» 
catioDs cprrupt gpod ipana^n ;;*' ^ud, by TQCulliDg the 
worda i>f tbQ royal SqIoxdob :. **- He UuDt walketb with 
ifise 19611. 9haU. bus wise ; but a ^iM]pwio]ri of fool^. ^aU 
bi9 djMtioyed." 

The firs( yeais.of tleni^ M/^rt^s College Qf^ jpofieol^ 
Qpthiiig particular for commeu^ ^ be pursued tb^ uqif^. 
ksa tenos of bis way io. a manner wbiob called (of. 
genera). approbation; be was externally akoi:al^.an<], now 
uu wearied in his application*. 

. Qat th^re is a wide di^tiQctioQ betwjeeo natural ?irtuf^ 
ai^ dmnebolifness. The ^icitual elem^Qjl l^ad uot^ ye^ 
bpen. infused into his ebaracter^ His. gopdness. waa t}ie, 
oi&pring of natural t^mpepvnen^ and social cu)t^re» a;pd 
was not based on that "■ cleiMi heai:t and right spirit** 
which .are tl^ new cri&ation oft God* It is well WjS 
shpuld haF^ clear, rieif s on the difference between virtue 
and grace. There ia.sonietbiug more requirj^d thaq the, 
beauties of a natural ch^ractier to 4^ a. iqi^ fpr '* tha 
inheriu^lce of tl^e saints in lights" There mujst be a 
l|tuHnony between the soul and tl^ mind of Godv Th,e 
virtuous man. la not necessarily a. holy ma^i ; and ** with- 
out holiness np man can see the Lord." The spii^t of 
G^d must brood over the dark wa(ei3 of the natural 
hearty and call life* and light, and order out of the cqn- 
fused and distempered chaos* or there can neyer l^ thalt 
conformity to Christ in which cousist the main ejenient^ 
of the Christian character. 

I^pw I wish ypu tp observe that Henxy Martyn^ 
truthful,, upright, large-hearted, Qlear-headed, wiuning, 

tke Io?6 )KnA «lD8uting UK6 rti^{)ea of ill, wa)B not yeft It 
*«)>ifitiial ifiim ;**" he was IftfU «*tiWhg without God itt 
tiife irorid.*' 

One ^eitbeptiM to hh ^^ml amiabiAtjr of chamctdr 

ky in VI tent&n tfrittiUlfty of temper wMch wad uatuffek 

to hixn, and which had been increased during his ywtage^ 

^ys by ^e tytanny tod '0pf)Te8sion of some of the 

Mer bo)rB in the »6lioo! wlierd he Wild educated. Tbese 

Mdon gntts of pasaioin hitd en one oi^casioti nearly 

liroittgbjt the ain nf blood-guiitiu^s Wi his iseul. A 

fiitiad Mkcttes his tiapfr, and Henty Matt^, obeying 

^ first violent impulse of his disturbed tempef , batches 

k kttift and throws it M tke <>ffeuder, not knowing W 

Uitt It may be boiied In his heart Thrdngh five good«^ 

mik of G^ he misdisd hib aim, and the kni^» glftncing 

by his (Kend^ was left frdmMing In Ihe Wall. Another 

pioof tbaA his heait imh ht from God at this time H 

gifOD ik h^ anbe^oMnlDg )i)earing, not only to a loving 

«ad pliMiA Msler, but likewise lb his kind nnd indulgent 


fiis yt»tfngMt tfstor, me^k, hi^ivenlyHafiinddd, ^nd 
iftotionaus, wtti taiodt bmtioui nboM his spiritiMl state, 
tad •tea in the tenderolt nAnner nrged ^cphti hitai the 
iefedm «laifttt ^f religion. 

Be this wtitei ^ after years of the sinftd frame of 
■rind by which he WM animated during a summed va^- 
tioa ipeiKWiyihis tunilyt"^"! <k> not rememb^ a time 
iu Whiek the wicke^ess of my heart f ose to a greater 
height than dnring my itay at home. The 6onsi^mmate 
aslfidmesfe ad vnqtdsite irritlibiliiy bf my mind were 
liiplayad in nge, miliee, and en^y ; in |)Hde and tain 
^oiji and ooMempt of all ; in the harsheal language to 


my sister and even to my father, if he happened to 
difier from my mind and will ! I left my siater and 
lather in October, and him I saw no more. I promised 
my sister that I would read my Bible for myself, but on 
being settled in College^ Newton engaged all my 

But there now comes a turning point in his history. 
An erent takes place which is overruled to his eternal 
good. In the midst of scientific pursuits and literaiy 
attainments, God shows him that there ife " one thing 
needful," and that without this all human knowledge is 
but hollow and vain. 

It is the Christmas of 17d4, and he has just passed a 
most successful examination. He is first among his 
competitors, and sends the joyful intelligence home* 
He hears in return that his father is delighted, and is 
not only in the highest spirits, but in the best of health. 
But in tbe very week after, he receives another letter; 
it is from his brother. He breaks the seal ; he reads. 
His father is dead ! 

The sudden, the unexpected tidings, overwhelm him 
with anguish. Mournful thoughts of the last time he 
^nt at home, and the pain he gave that father, and the 
neglect with which he treated him, now come over his 
mind, and tear it with a wDd and hopeless grief. He 
can never more see him to ask forgiveness ; he can never 
atone for past unkindness by filial obedience for the 
future. It is too late. Then thoughts of the invisible 
world force themselves on his mind ; he also as well as 
his father must pass through the grave and gate of 
death. His spirits become affected; he is low and 
downcast. He takes no pleasure in his former studies; 


he has no heart to pursue them. And now he begins to 
read the Bible. Newton, who has hitherto been his 
guide, leading hiui upwards to the star-paved firmament, 
and teaching him the wonderful harmonies of the 
universe, is left for that diviner book on whose pages the 
'* bright and morning star** sheds its lustrous rays ; and 
which tells how the'* Sun of Righteousness, with healing 
on his wings," is ready to impart life and light to eveiy 
benighted heart. At first he reads with a darkened 
uuderstanding, and as much as a matter of duty as 
pleasure; but by degrees the spiritual discernment is 
imparted, through which he is enabled to see the great 
and glorious things which belong to the kingdom of 
God. He begins with the Acts of the Apostles, because 
he thinks it the most amusing portion of the Bible ; but 
be is led insensibly to give attf^ntion to the words of our 
Lord and his Evangelists. The ofiTers of mercy and 
ibigiveneas, so full, so free. Mi upon his inquiring mind 
like the ^ tender dew upon the mown grass/' 

When he first began lo read the Scriptures, he had 
•bo begun to pray ; but at first with little sense of his 
own sinfulness, and therefore with little of that earnest- 
ness which is the sure accompaniment of a '' broken 
^nrit and a contrite heart." But now that he compre- 
Jiends the grace and gloiy of the everlasting covenant— 
now that he understands how liberal, even as the air we 
breathe, or the sunlight that brightens around us, is the 
love and. mercy of God in Christ, he prays with earnest- 
ness and hope to be made partaker of the rich blessings 
of salvation, and with an overflowing heart pours out his 
gratitude lo the Lord for not leaving him without conso- 
The working* of his heart were now fireely dis* 


ijosed to bw cMer, who jo^Mj helpt luai in ikm mty 
of eff erlastiDg life ; and noier tho fMBtoral lagtruetioo of 
the Rev. *C. Simeon, of Tria&tj Ctevch, CainMc|ge» he 
gradually requires more knowledge in the ▼aye of G4i4. 
in liim are verified Um wordt of the wise man t " The 
path of the joat is as the ehiBlng fighi yAMi ahfineth 
more aad more onto the perfect day." Sonow m hk 
case, as in many others, was ihe means oH mnki^ hm 
wm\ io God ; being eanctified* -** it yieldbd the p eac^ab to 
fruits of righleeiisnees/' and ont of the Ihoroes and 
agonies of inlenial ttiholation, the new man was lonaed 
in his heart; even that ^'aev man which after Goi ia 
created in righteonaness and troe hoiinaas.*' 

Before the close of his aeadeimoal careeiv Hanirjr 
Marlyn auaiaed to diat emmenoe on which, finam hk 
ifst entering Cottege, his ambitbn had been fixedb He 
had toiled with such nnwearied diligence an the hope of 
Teaching this station of temaikabk mariCy that he wns 
known in his College as '' the man that had not loei an 
hour I" And now his stady and aolicittide were rewarded ; 
and befinnB he cimipleied his dOih year, he obtained the 
highest honour ihe DntyeTBity can bestow Chat nf 
fienior Wrangler, in the Januaiy of 1801. 

But he now, in the very moment of anecessM ambi» 
tion, fdt how utteriy helpless are hiunan attainments to 
€11 the wanta of the immortal soul. For there is aaenaa 
of dissatislhction underlying the higheat of earthly dia*- 
tinctions. The cmrm of barrenness b upon all. Them 
are emnngs in the heart of man which the husks of the 
world cannot satisfy* 

What were the feelings of the aooceniful candidate 
himself on this oocaaion? ^I obtainad nij highasi 

wiftbes, hm, w«8 surprised to ^«m1 tint I liftd gnspefl -k 
Andtm !" Tfae confMikm of Kittw WhtUt l» an tai** 
nittie Iricfbdy after « aW M k r triampb «t CunMdifey mf 
W iroH placed side by Mb wkh that bf Henry Motyik 
" Were I topaki^^ he aays^ ''apictinre of Fane cvownsng 
• dtfldngiiisbed uadergraduate, after ifee seiiate-lkoiHe 
€KaaKBMU9oii, I ivoald «&ptesaiit her as eoncealing a 
4«m1i*s iMad under a mask ef bmuty." Pen- Wliite 
ieHl ma early ▼Setim to his consmBiiig tfeorst for aoademic 
boooOTs. Ha euMied the arena i^f oompelicioo arkh the 
•e e ds of deaili already soim in his frame throi^ fn*' 
meted iMerrs ef study, and Innid in tlie jilaoe «o wl^eb 
lie BO long lee^Led forward with' h(^ ^ choly a 'h6l4ied 
lo ripen tiMm." 

flow eloquent eie sac^ records as these ef the ^vanity 
«€ fannmn ambitioil ! ^ Vanky and rezaliott of spirit" 
IB wiitteb in the olesffest chantctofs M all the peieaiis 
that aie only of this ^oiidv The testteioiiy ^f even ^ 
jttoat eoicoeBBfol candidatas in the atena of luiaaaft 
faou#an beats o«t the assertion of the inspired boofe» 
" that man widketh in a vain sImmIow, aad disqalBtetk 
UoMBlf fnnBn;"that^he epends kis money for thai 
whiah is not bread, and his labont kft fhift Which does 
not satisfy/* Want ye proof of this? Then listen to 
the poet's stminS) and you will find that his melodioiia 
songs an bnt one long<^dimwn «igh, as he mosms over 
the koUoWaess and disappointmsnts ef earth. Or search 
the page of histoiy* and you will discover the same 
aoiemB trach ; for it is one which has been written in the 
teBn» and regtstered in the sorrows, of mankind. Yon 
bear it an the lamentations •f oenqnerors who hive van« 
qusiied die wodd, and wept that no ether wBVld remaiDed 


to be OTercome; it is attested by the repinings of tbe 
man of pleasure, who has drained every cup of enjayuent, 
and has gone the round of all human delight ; it is con-^ 
firmed by the confession of statesmen, who have shakoi 
the senate-house by their eloquence, and directed a 
nation by their wisdom. ''Vanity and vexation of 
spirit" has been inscribed on the proudest triumphs of 
their greatness*, and engraven on the loftiest monuments 
of their fiune. But although I thus speak of the inabi- 
lity of any earthly object to fill the craving desires of a 
soul made at first in the image of God, and therefore 
only to be satisfied with w)iat is Godlike, I would not be 
understood as uttering a word in condemnation of intel- 
lectual and scientific pursuits. It is becoming a being 
so richly etidowed as man with the noblest capacities, to 
make truth his guide, and the acquisition of sound 
jtnowledge his aim ; to soar with the astronomer to the 
boundless fields of space, fretted with golden fires; to 
dive with the geologist into the lower parts of the earth, 
where nature carries on her various processes in daAneas 
and mystery ; to disport with the naturalist among the 
flowers pencilled by the Almighty's hand, and to study 
under his teachings the habits of the animated tribes 
which either tenant the earth, or skim the waters, or in- 
habit the air. Far be it from any one to lay an arrest- 
ing finger on the diffusion of knowledge^ or to look with 
a jealous eye on any honest investigation into the works 
of the Creator, for science is alike dignified and sanctified 
when she consecrates her energies to the shedding new 
light and lustre on the manifold wisdom and goodness of 
God. You cannot be too learned, too acute, too intelli- 
gent, if only, instead of debasing the royal dowry of 


intellect into a means of foeUnriDg vanity and pride, and 
ensuring worldly applause, you exalt it into the band- 
maiden of religion, and sanctify human talent to the 
glory of the Giver and the advancement of your fellovf 
men. That the most vigorous pursuit after truth can 
never be dangerous to the man who engages in it with a 
reverent and devout spirit, is strikingly illustrated by the 
example of a Locke and a Newton, who, though they 
proved themselves the possessors of powers of mind 
gigantic alike in discovery and researchf ever, amidst 
all their learning, came and laid them down by those 
green pastures through which flows the pure river of the 
water of life, that, drinking deeply from the ** wells of 
salvation,** they might obtain refreshment for their weary 
and exhausted souls. So possible is it for piety and in- 
tellect to move on in harmony together — ^yea, for the 
loftiest attainments in human science, to consist with the 
noblest in divine ! 

Before Henry Martyn finished his academical course, 
he won iresh honours ; in 1802 he was chosen Fellow of 
St. John's ; and very shortly afterwards he was awarded 
the first prize for the best Latin prose composition ; '^ a 
distinction the more remarkable, as from his entrance 
into the University he had directed an unceasing and 
almost undirided attention to mathematics/' But the 
** honour which cometh from man" now occupied but 9 
secondary place In his mind ; he was also alive to hie 
best interests ; and it was his delight as well as his endea- 
vour to ** grow in grace, and in the knowledge of our 
Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ." 

A friendship which he at this time formed with Mr* 
Simeon was the instrument of much profit to his soul. 

void «iider Owd becud^iiliettteis of liA«lfl|;lii8tlKitigto 
to tbe ChriMiati tninistiy, tfid of givitig li4il(h to 4 Mbit 
in his btfut of ift«v(»ting MtttKellf ttt <liife Mgh and iMlf 

The eloM «f «hto yvstfr wan a i^BinatkaMe on« in 
Manyn's Kfe. Ha had alMady dedietned lilAfidf fid Iba 
ministry of tka CkMpel ; tat he Ib %bom to give v»0 
proof of tib Mtli, ft^ endenca of bia Io¥e. H« ia 
one day in t!ia oMnpany nf Mr. 8tinewi> when thai 
food mom ba^^^ns to make ii T^ttait on ihe ustoM 
fmneifitt ivbicb rftsalt from ttie eervkm ^f cKren « ain^ 
wiflsSomoyt The patwtt akhiAed to waa Dh €at«y, in 
%b08e heart ^e lo^e ttf the Lord Jeslia Cliriat biirhed 
brightly, and who went fordi in tbe attetigtb «if <3«d tA 
fiiodoataity that be might acisaal the tedst Wnpendons 
ayatem of Idotatiy ever framed by the great adversaty of 
aonk. Mail's attention ia ti once arrested; bid 
tboogbts are filled with tbe rast importance of tbe mia* 
aionaiy anbjeet, atod bis aoul is sthted within bim at Ibe 
Ihottght of these peKtshing millions Who are ignMukt ot 
tbe Mme vf Jesna. He new reads Uie Hfe of Da?i^ 
Braiiiard, who having fatboursd with l^markable sncceas 
amongst the North American Indiana, "^died in tbe 
iLord*' at the early age of 3d : and be resoltes, in the 
ardonr of a holy emniation, to follow bis noble and 
blessed example. Tbe determinatioil is made in tio 
light or empty 8|^rit ; be has a heart watmly attached to 
liome, and friends, and knotty ; be is fbhdJy devoted to 
Ibe refined enfeynents of socid and literary life ; and be 
feels tbe extent of tbe sacrifice be mnst make, and the 
iriala be mnst endnM. He fa no quixotic enthnsiast; 
DO wild ndfentttier ; be sita down and connta tbo coat 

On the QfD9. sida b- tihe happiBQw of home «Dd « 9p]e9dj4 

QU^eer, and nil thq teQder assodatioiis that bind 08. tft 

lov^Dg; cQippapions. and attached fiAendaj;, on the otbec 

•Te the hurdships of a foreign laBd«,and commnnion wijtk 

tke ignoiapt and unenlightened, and a residence amongjrt 

^auigeTB. animated hy no tiea •£ sympathy or affection* 

Bat then into the latter scale he thnowa the gloiy of hia^ 

8i|yiour« i^ich maj be furthered throqghhi^ devotion iq, 

tbe ifork,, and the interest of immortal, souls, and th# 

cmBO^and of his master, ** Qo ye, therefore, and teach, all 

natipns, baptizing them in the. name q( th^ Father, and 

o( the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.'* Yon cannot^ 

fiionder^ therefore, that he does, not hesitate which, patk 

to choose., tbe flowery *one of self-indulgence, or. tjie 

thorny one of self-denial. The latter ia his election^r 

and he ofieri hiinself as a. Missionary tp the noble. 

Society (or missions to Africa i^nd the East, now. 

known by thei^ame. of the Church Misuonary Society,-^ 

an institmion laigely owned pf God in. the. conversion, of 

many thousands of souls. 

I^ was in. the Cafhedral.ChuKhof Ely, in the Octeb^ 
of 1803, that. Henry Martyn took upon him the solepa 
office of an ambassador of Christ, dedicating himself to, 
God as the measenger of His will and the teacher of His 
truth. He was deeply in^pressed with the weight oi hia 
ordjnution itows, and would have been o^eiiwhelmed l^ 
the thought of hia.respcwsibility, had he not leaned on 
the strength of Him who, before he passed into the 
hemvens, left the promise to His discdplesi. '^ Lo, I am 
with you always, evjsn unto the end of the world/' 

That which was a comfprt to Polycaip as a Bishop, 
was his. consolation as % Deacon/--4hat be who was. 
ooostitnteA ooerMemr qI the chiirch was hipiaelf averloaked 


by Jesus Christ; and that in the discharge of his office 
as pastor of the flock, he was ever under the gracious 
superintendence of that great and good shepherd who 
" laid down bia life for the sheep." His pastoral duties 
were commenced under the auspices of Mr. Simeon, in 
the Church of the Holy Trinity in Cambridge ; and he 
likewise undertook the charge of the parish of Lol worth, 
a small village at no great distance from the University. 
A few months after his ordination, his design of leaving 
England as a missionary seemed on the point of being 
frustrated by the loss of his slender patrimony-^« loss 
in which his sister was involved. Independently of bis 
pecuniary resources being thus cut ofi*, he did not think 
it justifiable to leave his sister in a distress which his 
presence in England might remove. The trial was 
sharp, but he bore it patiently, for he felt that the Lord 
was doing all things well. His friends at this time did 
all that lay in their power to obtain for him the situation 
of Chaplain to the East India Company, for which they 
thought him peculiarly fitted, and their endeavours were 
not long after crowned with success. The maniage of his 
sister left him at liberty to accept the appointment. In 
the intermediate time we find him zealously pursuing 
his parochial duties, fulfilling the office of Examiner in 
St. John's College, to which he was three several years 
elected, and " fighting the good fight of faith" with the 
world without and the heart within. His journal during 
this period, while it tells us of his fervency in prayer, also 
reveals to us the severe conflict which was carried on in 
his soul between the old mun and the new ; the flesh 
lusting against the spirit, and the spirit lusting against 
the flesh. The Christian life has the same development 
in all that are bom of God ; and stiirthe cry uttered long 


ago by a saiot in ancient days, has to be ecboed back 
by each trae member of the Cburch of Christ — *' O 
inretcbed man that I am, who shall deliver me from the 
body of this death !*' 

In the March of 1805, he was admitted to the fbnc- 
tions and privileges of a Presbyter at St. James's Chapel, 
London ; after which he received the degree of Bachelor 
of Divinity, conferred on him by the University of Cam- 
bridge. Nothing now remained to detain him in Eng- 
land ; hia way was opened to depart from her shores for 
ever. There is a great struggle in his heart when the 
smnmons at length reaches him that he must go. All 
that be is to leave, all that he is to endure, rushes upon 
bis mind* There is tumult and anguish in his soul, 
and sorrow such as they feel whose heart-strings are 
torn by sudden and painful partings. Thus he writes 
in bis journal — ^' I shed tears at night at the thought of 
my departure, and the roaring sea that would be soon 
rolling between me and all that is dear to me upon 
earth." He has not only to sever the fond ties of family 
and friendship ; more tender and stronger cords are to 
be buTBt asunder. He has formed a deep and fervent 
attachment to a lady in Cornwall, ''an attachment 
which," says his intimate friend and biographer, 
" whether be thought, as he afterwards did, that it should 
be encouraged, or as he now did, that from peculiar cir- 
cumstances it ought to be repressed, equally exhibits 
bim as a man of God whose ** afiections were set upon 
things above, and not on things on the earth." There 
was a difference of opinion respecting the propriety of his 
onion among his friends, and his own mind often felt a 
conflict on the point; at times he seemed to think volun- 
tary celibacy the more noble and glorious life ; at others 

hw. hoart. sUooglji indioad t% maoriage. Thsra. iiifi|^ 
lw««.hfien scvnethiogof weaJkoew tai iadecuian hi thi«; 
bnt «Q aratpeakuig not of aa aagieli but of a man ^ qqa 
of like passions with ourselves^ and conpaaaad abont wilb 
Vkn infinnily* Wbaa at.leugth it. was* decided he should 
go out singl^y ereB: if afterwards he might find it well X0t 
pe]PsuadajMjaa Gianfall to join, him m Indii^-^and abeii 
haibra hia. d^partinie,. made, no objection, to this httax^ 
ajxangamenty-^ia entries in his joomal betny how deefiljp 
ba felt, the. sepaiation— *'* My heact is neady to. bveak 
witba^ny; why have my friends mentioned the snb*^ 
jjMit? It bM^ tora open old wounds^, and I am^agaia 
bleeding." Ba saw bar no mora altar ha leit En^and« 
find in conseqqai^oe of tbe diaappointment a darknesa'falh 
upon, hia lijb>. out, of the shadow of which he neFoc 
entizaly paas^d^ But we must touch this part of ow 
^abject with, ar gentle hand* Them ar» certain foelingfa- 
of thahtean over which. it ia.becuming to< throw the deli*- 
cata veil.of ailencei 

** Kot easily to be foi^iren 
Are thoee^ who, setting wide the doors that bar 
Tbe secoet bridal ohambers of the heart, 
Let^ in the dky." 

Enough, has been aaid to show yiou. that MaxtyA felt 
the trial,, and felt it acutely ;, that it. entered eFon. as a< 
sharp sword into his soul ; and yet that he. countad all. 
things but loasifpr Christ, and was content to lose all for 
Him^ He was. ona who yearned after the sympathy and 
society of hia fellows, and shrunk. sansitiFely hrom tba 
^dnasa of a lonely Ufa. fiut all waa overcome by. tba 
cpnatraining^mptives of love and duty. "ShaUtlbaair 
t»ta*" W* ^i " ^ P<^ ^¥. dafft.ui coaatam aoiitude* 

9BNRT M4RTYN, 69 , 

wke an bot a ' brand plucked from the bnrning?* No, 
thought I, hell and earth shall never keep me back from 
my work; I am. cast down but not destroyed/* 

Here, my friends, is a determination which we may 
all write upon our hearts ; it is a noble and a lofty senti- 
ment — ** hell and earth shall never keep me back from my 
work.** It is the very same spirit which wrought in St. 
Pmuli when he said, ** I count not my life dear unto 
myself, so that I might finish my course with joy, and 
the ministiy which I have received of the Lord Jesus to 
testify the gospel of the grace of God." It is the very 
same spirit which animated Luther when he exclaimed, 
in answer to the remonstrance of the friends who would 
have dissuaded him from his journey to Worms, "If 
they were to kindle a fire between Wittemburg and 
Worms, which would reach to the heavens, I would still 
appear in the name of the Lord, and enter the jaws of 
Behemoth, and treading between his teeth, confess 
Christy and leave him to do his pleasure." 

I delight to dwell upon the words " hell and earth 
shall never keep me back from my work," for they tell 
of foith and fortitude, and a manly, robiuit, energetic 
religion ; a religion not of sentiment or profession, not 
of frames and feelings, but one which so brings the soul 
into contact with the stupendous realities of eternity, 
that we are ready to sufier the loss of all things that we 
may win Christ, and be found in Him. Oh, that we 
might be tatight by that holy man who uttered them a 
lesson in devotedness to God ; that we might learn from 
him how it invests our life with an untold majesty to lay 
it thus willingly on the Lord's attar, and to clasp to our 
bosom the reproach of Christ ! 


Poor Maityn was now sobering indeed, for be 
uddng up his master's cross, and tke iroi> was entering 
his souK Yea, It may be said that be was now •' striring** 
against the natural desires of the mind, " resisting even 
unto blood ;" not the blood which flows fro^ the flesh bj 
the sword or the spear, bnt that icbkh is dtawn fVom the 
heart, when it bleed* itself away drop by diDp under 
some great and agonizins^ sorrow.' There is something 
in the history of that internal conflict which warred in 
the breast of this devoted servant of God, which is 
peculiarly valuable to all who have engaged in the 
** good fight of faith.^ We have here a man exercised with 
the same feelings as onrselves, shrinking from the diffi- 
culties before him, cut to the quick by the keen knifb of 
affliction, and yet so full of zeal in the Lord's service 
that he submits to everything, encounters everything, for 
Christ's sake and the Gospel's. 

When the novelist or the romancist draw upon their 
imaginations for a hero, they not unfrequently present us 
with some model of superhuman excellence, who smiles 
in lofty disdain on the sorrows which beset his path, and 
moves about on earth like a denizen of another sphere. 
And as we read we feel that a man of this unearthly 
virtue soars far beyond our humble powers of imitation. 
Bnt in Henry Martyn we have a man in temperament, 
in constitution, in sensibility, like one of ourselves; 
whose journal reveals to us that his soul was well ac* 
quainted with the harassments of sin, and the assaults 
of the evil one, and the motions of that carnal heart 
which is natural to every child of Adam. Therefore his 
example is valuable, for it tells us bow this same fleshly 
mind which cleaves to us all, do what we will to get rid 


of it, is 8ft far (roni being a proof, as we might imagine, 
ihmt «• do not belong to the family of heaven, that it 
ensts in the holiest of men, and that through grace it 
may be so &r subdued as not to inteifere with our hearty 
senriee of GoA, or entire surrender of oursolves to his ser- 
> Wa see in the case of Martyn how every " thought 
brought mto captivity to the obedience of Christ ;'* 
hovr be volontarily resigned a bright and splendid career, 
and all that had hitherto been his pleasure and delight, 
and bow be resolved to pass the rest of his life with no 
oibef source of happiness than that which proceeds from 
the worship and service of God. Whatever, then, be the 
diaconngements in your Christian life, whether from the 
eril heart within, or from the wicked world without, or 
from the fiery darts of the adversely himself, be not 
diriiearCened ; let God be your strength, and prayer your 
resource, and the spirit your helper, and you shall yet 
come forth victorious from the hard- fought battle, and 
shall be ''made more than conquerors through Him 
that loved us.*' 

In the July of 1805, Martyn sailed from Portsmouth 
in the Uni<m East Indiaman, which was to convey him 
to Calcutta. After ten days the ship came to anchor in 
the port of Falmouth, where she was detained for upwards 
of three weeks; and he embraces the opportunity of once 
more enjoying the society of his friends, before he bids 
them &rewell for ever. The pleasure, however, great as 
h was, was more than counterbalanced by the pangs of 
another separation. Be was in the company of the 
person to whom he was bound by the tenderest ties, 
when the signal was made for sailing, and he hurried on 
boaid with the melancholy ceruinty of never beholding 
her agiin« For the greater pan of this and the following 


day, Comwal] was in sight, and eveiy object oh the 
receding shore, hamlet, and wood^ and headland, re- 
minded him of scenes linked for ever with his fondest 
recollections, and of pleasures never to be tasted more. 
I know nothing more touching in the whole range of 
biography than the entry in his journal which records 
his feelings at this moment of separation from all that be 
loFed on earth. " England had disappeared, and with 
it all my peace ; the pains of memory were all I felt. 
Would you^o back, I said ? Oh, no ; but how can I be 
supported P My faith fails. Oh, my friends in Eng- 
land, when we spoke with exultation of the mission to 
the heathen, whilst in the midst of wealth, and joy, and 
hope, what an imperfect idea did we form of the suffer* 
ings by which it must be accomplished !" But his feel- 
ings were not always of this plaintive melancholy cast ; 
he was often able to rise above the sorrows of time, and 
to rejoice in the glories to be ^revealed. Sometimes, as 
he stood upon the deck gazing at the beauties of the 
setting sun, and beholding how his rays tinged the floating 
mssses of cloud with gold and vermilion, his thoughts 
would soar to those realms of glory lit up with the shin- 
ings of the Almighty's face. Sometimes, when meditat- 
ing on the word of God, or preaching to the ship's 
company from some inspired text, he found joy un* 
speakable in letting his thoughts dwell ou the ''rest 
that remaineth for the people of God,'' and the boundless 
love and joy that reign in that celestial city where there 
shall be but " one fold and one shepherd," and which 
has the gate of pearl, and the wall of jasper, and the 
street of gold. Nor were his days during the voyage 
spent in inactivity. The Apostle's exhortation seemed 
to be the daily rule of his life; *' not slothful ii> business, 


fenrent in spirit > serving the Lord, rejoicing in bope, 
patient in tribnlatton, continuing instant in prayer." 
He wsB ever about his Master's business. During the 
eight montbfi for which his voyage lasted, he was con* 
«taut in bis labours among the soldiers, and officers, and 
cadets, who where on board, and was willing to become 
all things to all men that by any means he might gain 
some. His pastoral assiduity was also called into exercise 
by the unhealthy state of the ship's company. Often was 
he found by the beds of the sick, administering to their 
eveiy temporal and spiritual comfort, till at length he 
himself was seized by the contagious disorder. As soon 
as he recovered he was again at his post, kneeling beside 
the hammocks of the sick and dying, speaking a '* word 
in season to the weary,*' and pointing the eye of faith 
and hope to that Saviour who " gave his life a ransom 
lor many." He was ever busy in offices of tenderness 
and love, soothing the wretched, teaching the unin- 
stmcted* and giving himself up to the service of the 
siDfal and the suffering with all the warmth and alacrity of 
the most active benevolence. And this exhibition of a 
fine Christian philanthropy was given amid much to 
damp its ardour, and to check its sympathies, for he met 
with not a little contradiction and insult from those who 
weie opposed to the gospel, and could not endure its 
faithful appeals to their consciences. Obloquy and eon- 
tempt» noise and clamour, and scoffs, assailed him, as 
hiflnenced by the imperious sense of duty and the tender 
overfiowiugk of love, he warned the ungodly to ** flee from 
the wiath to come," and besought them, even weeping, to 
lake reAige in Christ. We may well believe that a 
spirit, to sensitive as his, and yearning a(ler the sympathy 


of his fellow men, felt the acorn and the derinon, and 
was wounded by the contempt and disdain ; '' bat none 
of these things moved him" from his righteous walk, 
or made htm falter one jot or one tittle in the diacbarRe 
of what he believed to be a serious and paranouDt daty. 
The iiritability which once characterised his temper had 
been subdued by grace, and he that once in paasioii 
thraw the knife at his friend, is now conteat to be accnonted 
" che ofiscouring of alf things.'* What cannot the spixit 
of God effect ? Mighty things and wonderful. He can 
** make low the mountains" of sin in the human heart, 
and ''exalt the valleyB" of indifference; be can ^nuike 
the crooked straight, and the rough places pkin." He 
can stir the soul of man from the slumber of death into 
the senaibilities and energies of life. He can hush the 
warring passions of the heart into the stillness and quiet 
of repose. He can give the faith which overcometh the 
world ; and the love which embraces man in God ; and 
the hope which msketh not ashamed, and is full oC 
immortality. Yea, He can make thingB invisible so 
overshadow things that are seen, and things eternal so 
outweigh the things of time« that the visible and the 
tempond shall only be as dust in the balance, and the 
pleasures of earth shall be forgotten in the happiness of 

And now we must look at Marty n as he reaches the 
goal of all his desires and wishes, and, af^er a long and 
wearisome voyage of eight months, at length sets foot on 
the Indian shore, India is a land whose very name 
gives birth to a train of the most stirring emotions in the 
mind. We cannot think of this conntiy withoet letting 
the mind dwell on the magnitude of a legion^ some of 

wliose kingdonis ove clo^ied with a rich ukl oriental 

beauty, and flooded arith the briUiaocy of a tropical suoi 

while other parts of ita territories are visited by the keen 

bUists of winter, and contain that magnificent mountain*' 

chain which tnm its eteroal frosts has been named the 

•* Him-dlaya/' or, • the dwelling-place of snow,'* 

Thoagh in portions flat and monotonous, India has many 

a region of exquisite loveliness, lu plains are 

enriched by the featheiy jisAm and the stately banyan ; 

Uiere rise the yellow tulip^tree, and the i^lendid aloe 

srith its magnificent blossoms ; and tfaeie the omnga, 

and the lime, and the dtnm, scent the gales with their 

ttomalic breath. Spreading jungles are there, which 

sillbid shelter to the tawny lion and ^e ivory-toothed 

elephant; and green forests, amidst whose clostering 

foliage ''strange bright birds*' glitter like Instroos ttais 

throngh the shades of the dusky night. Bkh mines are 

there, whence gold and precions metals ane dag, and hi 

#lioee soil diamonds and costly jewels lie imbedded* 

Here Alexander the Great fonght, and Timoiir the 
Taitar carried on his conquests. Here Aurungz^ 
Ksnd in a splendonr which recalls the wild magnificence 
4ii eastern romance ; end Hyder Ali, the remorselesss 
tyrant and the sensual volupioaiy, wuvsd with the 
English, and snbvened the threne of Mysore. And 
bere Tippoo 8afl>, his cmel and bigoted son, was the 
master of weakh and treasores to an almost fabnloos 
nmonnu Hers it was that Robert Olive, described by 
Pitt aa a heaven-bom general, achieved victories fear 
England, consolidated her Eastern erapirs, and won fresh 
Ycnown for the arms of his country. Here it was that 
Warren Hastings, a man blemished by great crimes, and 


distinguished for great services, administered gorernmeDt 
and war ; and here our honoured Wellington^ 

M He that gain'd » hundred fights, 
Kor erer lost an English gun ; 
Agciintt the myriads of Assaye 
Clash'd ?rith his fieiy £bw and won." 

And iunsges of other men, less rich indeed in thd 
honour which cometh from the world, hut more wealthy 
in that honour which cometh from God, rise u|i before 
the eye. Schwartz, rich in glowing piety and fervent 
zeal ; Buchanan, who consecrated the brightest talents 
to the missionary work ; Carey, the humble shoemaker 
of Noi^hampton, who, friendless and poor, went forth to 
plant the standard o( the cross on the vast plains of 
Hindoatan, are all identified in our minds with India. 
And then that stupendous system of idolatry, with its 
thousands of priests and millions of worshippers, and 
thrcmgs of pilgrims ; with its splendid templee and 
magnificent processions; with its fearful orgiea and 
abominable rites, rears its gigantic structure before us, 
oemeuted by the hidissoluble bonds of caste, and rooted 
in the hearts of the people, as well from usage as from 
age« We see Benares, rich in temples and holy shrinea j 
and Delhi, with its. lofty mosques and graceful minarets ; 
and the dark pagoda of Juggernaut, devoted to the 
worship of the spirits of darkness, and the scene <rf 
siYperstitious ceremonies, of a vileness and a poUutiaB 
worthier devils than men. And then again it b impoar* 
sible to think of India without the cloud rolling back 
from the eighteen centuries which have passed away 
since the first missionary trod its shores, it is said—* 
and there is no reason to question the correctness of the 


suiement'^^that the Apostle who was pennitted to pat 
his hands into the sacred woands of our Lord's body 
was the first who brought the knowledge of Christ to 
the ignorant Hindoos. Tradition marks the spot^ — hence 
called St. Thomas's Mount, on which the Apostle who 
once doubled the resurrection of Jesus sufiered martyr^ 
dom in his Master's cause. " When the Portuguese, at 
the ccmimencement of the 16th century, first established 
tbemselyes on the coast of Malabar, they found a com- 
munity called the Syrian or St. Thome Christians/ be- 
cause descended firom the converts of the Apostle, whose 
church was episcopal in its constitution, and who, though 
surrounded by the darkness of Hindoo superstition and 
idolatry, faithfully though feebly preserved the light of 
heavenly truth for more that 1500 years." 

It may not be out of place if 1 say a few words on the 
first missions to India. The Portuguese on their arrival 
sent forth teachers of the Romish faith to various parts 
of the country, who, leaving caste untouched, slightly 
modifying image worship, and confirming many of the 
superstitious observances of the heathen, received into 
the church all, of whatever character, who would submit 
to be baptised. For a time their efibrts succeeded, and 
the number of converts was large ; but their success was 
but of limited duration. When the Romish missions 
were in th^ir decline, Frederick IV., King of Denmark^ 
established a missionary station at Tranquebar, which 
town had been ceded to the Danish crown by the Rajah 
of Tanjore. In the early piirt of the 1 8th century the 
veneiable Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge 
undenook the sole support of a mission at Madras ; and 
bad the. honour of sending forth a Schwartz to convey 

ti IIKff lor HARtTltk 

til the «ait tbat glorious Qoipel^ tdiose words, when 
applied hy the ^iiit of God, can create life under the 
ribs of death» and make man wise unto salvation through 
fiuth whi^ IS in Christ Jesus. But as yet the English 
chnrch had no systematic oiganisadon for direct mis* 
aionary work amongst the millions upon millions that 
inhabited the peoinsola of India. At length the time 
came when she was roused to a sense of her duty« Let 
418 go back in thought about fifty*lb«r years from this 
present time, and imagine ourselves to be in the metro- 
polis of this great empire. 

Yon see that little room in the heart of London ; it is 
occupied by a lew clergymen who have met together for 
the oliject of tAutnal edification. They have often 
assembled here for the purposes of devotion ; but to-day 
there is a more than usual interest beaming in their 
63^es, and speaking in their voices, and breathing out 
from their whole manner. What can be the cause ? It 
is the year in which Buonaparte, in the attempt to con* 
qoer Syria, crosses the desert from Cairo with 10 fiW 
men, and taking Gasa, and storming Jaffii, butchers all 
the prisoners there in cold blood, and carries everything 
belbre him vuil he is baffled in his attempts to capture 
the ancHBt dty of Acre. It ia the year in which the 
groans that are borne from Africa and the West Indies 
grow hoarser and deeper ; and the terrible cgr of blood 
fhflt ascends to the throne of God from the injured 
victims of the aecnrsed dave tmde begins to make itself 
heard tiirougfaout the countiy, and to arrest the ear and 
the heart of the senalon and philanthropistB of onr 

But it is neither the oenvulsioQs which rsign in a 

foreign land, nor the roices of the 6nslav6<i^ that ate 
borne from oar colouiee — though they have thrilled at 
the recital of the one^ and sighed over the wail of thfr 
other — that occnpy to^iay the thoitghts of these bw 
perish priests assemhled in that humble chamber. Thejr 
are planning together hov they may stir up the heart of 
England to imdertake the great work of evangelisuig Urn 

India and Africa, with their teemmg mnliitades of 
human benigs wholly given over to idolatry, form the 
topic of their conversation. They determine in the 
strength of the Lord to do what lies in their power to 
send the glad tidings of the Gospd to the perishing 
millions who are ignorant ot the name of Christ. Few 
they are, and feeble they are, but it is God's work, and 
they will not despair of success. And €K>d's blessing 
rested on their faith and love. In His strength they 
Ibrmed the Chnreh Missionary Society — a society which 
has swelled firom an im ignificant rill tu a mighty river, 
the waters of which, canying with them Hfeand healmg, 
have fertilised and gladdened many a parched and thimty 

" It was once said, and but too truly, that were British 
rale in India to become, in the dianges brought about 
by the providence of God, a hd of history to-morrow, 
no visible impress of our faidi would be left over whole 
provinces and Icingdoms ; nothing would remain to show 
that Englishmen fought beneath the banner of the cross, 
and remembered the God of battles in the victories which 
he himself vouchsafed.*' But, blessed be God ! this 
can be taid no more. I speak not merely of noble 
cathedrals eredad, or simple churehes sslablisbed of 


the apparatus of mission stations and busy scbools^-mf 
many a waste place in the wildeniess now turned into 
the fertile garden of the Lord, *' for temples made with 
hands'* perish and decay, and the wild tornado of popular 
tumult* can sweep away structures the noblest and the 
fairest, and leave not a wreck behind to tell of former 
glory ; but I speak of monuments that never crumble 
nor corrode— of imperishable souls saved with an ever- 
lasting salvation ; men, and women, and children, once 
bound in the hateful fetters of the vilest superstition, 
rescued from the tyranny of evil by the mighty power of 
the Go^el, and *' delivered from the bondage of corrup- 
tiim into the glorious liberty of the children of €k>d." 
Some of these there are, who even now, amidst the 
sorrows and temptations of a ** world lying in the wicked 
one," are '" adorning the doctrine of Ood our Saviour in 
all things ;*' and some of these having *' fought the good 
fight and kept the faith," have been drawn by the evei^ 
pasting arms heavenwards up to paradise and peace, to 
join that bright company of the redeemed which rejoices 
ever in the presence of the Lord. 

It was that he might win such immortal trophies for 
the glory of God, that Henry Martyii, with his powerful 
intellect, his simple faith, his burning zeal, devoted him- 
self to the arduous work of a missionary in India. For 
-a short period this holy man took up his residence at 
Aldeen, near Calcutta, where in the mission church he 
,preached the Gospel to his countrymen ; and his friends, 
thinking the place to be evidently suited to his talents, 
wished him to continue in this sphere* But it was truly 
said of him by Dr. Buchanan in his ''Christian 
Researches," that he '* had a spirit to follow the steps of 

HENRY martyn; 7T 

a Brainard and a Schwartz ;" and to be prevented from 
going to the heathen^ Martyn himself remarked on this 
occasion, '* would almost have broken his heart." It 
was not long, therefore, before he set out for Dinapore ; 
and having parted from his Christian brethren, who 
accompanied him part of the way up the Ganges, was 
for the first time left alone with none but the natives* 
Three especial objects engaged his attention upon reach ^ 
ing Dinapore ; — ^to acquire such a facility in speaking 
Hindostanee as might enable him to preach in that lan- 
guage the Gospel of the grace of God ; to establish 
native schools ; and to prepare translations of the Scrip* 
tures, and religious tracts for circulation. -During his 
voyage up the Ganges he had employed himself in 
translating the Parables, accompanied by remarks on 
those beautiful passages in God's words. 

But no sooner had he passed from the Province of 
Bengal into that of Bahar, than he found the Baharree 
dialect must also be acquired } for as the people of India 
are divided into thirty-five difierent states, so do they 
speak thirty diflferent languages ; and though there is a 
close affinity between these tongues, yet a book in the 
dialect of one district is unintelligible to the inhabitants 
of another. These, and the many other difficulties which 
lay in the way of his work, could not fail of weighing 
Impressively on his mind ; and had he not known that 
Christ is a sure refuge for all who put their trust in his 
love, he would have been overwhelmed with despair; 
And, alas, the conduct of his own countrymen stationed 
at Dinapore— their levity and profaneness, their dishonour 
of religion, their mind so opposed to the spirit of that 
Christianity which they professed, — was to this holy 


man a canae of the bitterest tranbU and eren anguish of 
aoul. With St. Paal he could say of those who were &o 
uuworthy the name of Christian^ " Many walk, of whom. 
I have told you often, and now tell you even weepm^ 
thai they are the eaittuiei of the cross of Christ." The 
natives, too, he thought regarded him with enmity and 
dulike ; and his meek and tender spirit was pained and 
grieved, as he feared that he was the object of their codp 
tempt Hence this mingled bunt of sorrow and hope« 
which, proceeding from a heart overcharged with grief, 
found expression in the following words: — " Here every 
native I meet is an enemy to me because I am an 
Englishman. England appears almost a heaven upoa 
earth, because there one is not viewed as an unjust ia^ 
truder. But, oh ! the heaven of my God, ' the general 
assembly of the first-born, the spirits of just men made 
perfect,' and Jesus ! O, let me for a little while labour 
and sufier reproach." 

His ministry as Chaplain at Dinapore was at its com- 
mencement not such as to cheer him : but after a time 
there were some amongst the English who became *'.hia 
joy," and who will one day be '' his crown of rejoicing." 
When he first began his duties at this station, he read 
prayers to the soldiers at the barracks on the long-dnun,. 
and as there was no place to sit, he was desired to omit 
the sermon. After a time he made arrangements for the 
more decorous celebration of divine service ; but some 
of the resident families overstepped the limits of propriety 
and respect by asking him to desist from extempore 
preaching ; and though when he heard the request he 
feu displeased and annoyed> yet he afterwards returned 
the answer, — ^perhaps a little sarcastic,—" that he would 

BllfRT XABTTK. 79 

give them a foKo sermon-bocA, if they would receive 
the ward of God on that account." His Teiy en<» 
deaToors at this time to bring the Gospel to- bear 
npon the heathen, excited the dread and jealousy ef 
some of the worldly and indifferent^ lest it should excite 
a tumult amongst the natives ; — as though the Gospel of 
the grace of God could do anything but pour oil on the 
troubled waters of the human heart, or introduce any- 
thing but peace and good will where it is received. 
With the moral character of the natives he was shocked 
and pained ; and so great was thehr laxity of principle 
that their conversion to nominal Christianity would have 
been a matter of little or no difficulty. But this was 
not his object ; and miless he considered them to be truly 
penitent and believing, he had no wish or intention to 
baptize them. He erected five schools at his own ex- 
pense, which were well attended ; and he now commenced 
divine worship in the vernacular tongue of India; at 
which Portuguese, Roman Catholics, and Mahomedans, 
attended in large and eager crowds. His time was also 
much occupied by religious discussions with his Moonshee 
aed. Pundit; and in these conferences he shewed much 
calmness and soundness of judgment ; while his great 
powers of intellect, and his rich attainments in learning, 
were found useful auxiliaries in laying bare the subtleties 
and sophistries of his opponents. 

His chief source of consolation at this time, and that 
which most cheered the solitariness of bis lot, was the 
arrival of letters from his Christian friends at Calcutta, 
Mr. Brown and Mr. Corrie, and those which he received 
from England. He still corresponded with Miss Gren- 
iisU, and his letters tell painfully how maeh he foil 


their separation, and how -great was the struggle 
within, before he could say, '^ Abba, Father, not 
my will but thine be done !" He was ever hoping 
that she wou^d consent to join him in his Indian home ; 
and he longed for her presence the more because he 
thought their union would greatly tend to the extension 
of his own usefulness in the Missionary work. " My 
own earthly comfort and happiness," he writes, ''are not 
worth a moment's notice ; I would not influence you by 
afiy artiflces or false representations. I can only say, 
that if you have a desire of being instrumental in as* 
tablishing the Blessed Redeemer's kingdom among these 
poor people, and will condescend to do it, by supporting 
the spirit and animating the zeal of a weak messenger of the 
Lord, who is apt to grow veiy dispu^ted and languid, 
' Come, and the Lord be with you !' It cap be nothing 
but a sacrifice on your part to leave your valuable friends 
to come to one who is utterly unworthy of you, or of 
any other of God's precious gifts, but you will have your 
reward ; and I ask it not of you or of God for the sake of 
my own happiness, but only on account of the Gospel's.'* 
The answer to this letter was one which doomed him 
to the bitterness of disappointed hope. Miss Grenfell 
refused to leave England, partly at least, on her mother's 
account, who was naturally unwilling to be separated 
from her daughter, and partly it would seem from other 
reasons.* As before, in all times of his tribulation, so 


* In Mr. Simeon's life there ie given an entzy from his 
journal in which, rafening to Miss Gbenfell, he says, " she stated 
to me all the obstaoles to his (Martyn's) proposals : — First, her 
health ; the second, the indelicacy of her going out to India 
alone on snoh an emnd ; third, her former engagement with 


BOVy he sought and fonnd ccmeolation in prajer. You 
onmot read his life without being struck with the earnest 
and constant lifting up of his soul unto God. It might 
be truly said of him that ** God was in all his thoughts." 
This was the secret of his steady advance in grace* It 
was through prayer that out of weakness he was made 
stroDg ; through prayer that when in darkness he ob- 
tained light ; through prayer that when in trouble he 
found peace. He sanctified eyeiything by the word of 
Qod and prayer,** and he found in both a source of 
an almost perpetual delight. I say " almost/' for he 
hsd not alwa3r8 the same enlargement of heart in these 
holy ezeidses ; at times he had to lament, even as others, 
the dulness and slugg^hness of his approaches to the 
Throne of Grace, and his want of tenderness and faith 
when he sought to pour forth his supplications unto 
God. But what I want to impress on you, my dear 
friends, is this, — that prayer was the habit of his mind ; 
the solace and support of his soul at all times and in all 
places. Let it be yours, too. Cultivate more and more 
the " spirit of grace and supplication ;" for you may be 
assured that the true way of attaining conformity to the 
mind of Christ is to '' continue instant in prayer." If 
you desire that the " peace of God which passeth all 
understanding should keep your hearts and minds by 

toother penon, which had indeed been broken off, and he bad 
aotnally gone up to London two yean ago to be married to 
another woman, but aa he waa unmarried it leemed an obstacle 
in her mind ; fourth, the certainty that her mother would never 
oonaent to it. On these points I observed, that I thought that 
the last was the only one that waa insurmountable."— Tide 
8imeoD*t Life, p^ 286, 



Christ Jesus/' you most attend to the Apostolic in- 
junctioD, '' Be careful for nothing, bnt in every thing by 
prayer and snpplicaiion let yonr requests be made known 
unto God." It is through prayer that while the out- 
ward jnan perishes, " the inward man is renewed day by 
day." There never has been a man eminent for godli- 
ness who has not been a man of prayer : for if there be 
not constant and earnest communion with our Father in 
Heaven through that Spirit who '* helpeth our infirmi- 
ties, and maketh intercession for us with groanings that 
cannot be uttered/' faith becomes weak, love waxes cold, 
hope grows faint, religion degenerates into a dead and 
barren formalism, and profession becomes nothing better 
than a *' sounding brass and a tinkling cjrmbaL" 

But, besides "praying without ceasing," MarQrn gave 
himself actively to the Lord's service in this season oi 
trial, and by incessant labour 1»Y>ught to its completion a 
work, which,had heefiected nothing else, would haveproved 
that he had not lived in vain, — the translation of the Book 
of Common Prayer into the Hindoostanee tongue. His 
Commentary on the Parables was also in a very little 
while after brought to a successful ronclusion. He now 
employs himself in completing a version of the Scrip- 
tures in Hindoostanee, and of superintending one in the 
Persian tongue ; and so imperceptibly does the time fly 
while thus engaged, that " his days seem to pass like a 

But new sorrows await him. Letters from England 
convey the intelligence of the death of his eldest sister. 
The dispensation is most painful and trying, and the 
only thing which makes it supportable is the knowledge 
that she has passed from death into life^ and emerged 


from tbe shadows of the dark valkj into the light and 
glory of the presence of the Lord. 

"Oh, my heart! my heart!" he exclaims: ''Is it, 
can it he, true that she has heen lying so many months 
in the cold grave ?'* '' O, great and gracious Lord, what 
should I do without thee ! hut now thou art manifesting 
thysdf as the God of all consolation to my sonl. Never 
was I so near to ihee ; I stand on the brink, and I long 
to take my flight ! Oh, what hast thou done to alleviate 
the sorrows of Hfe, and how great has been the mercy 
of God towards my family, saving us all ! How dark 
and dreadful the separation of relatives in death, were it 
not for Jesns !" But though suffering acutely from this 
bereavement, he relaxed not in his '^ work of faith and 
labour of love ;'* he Btill conthined '* stedfast, unmove- 
able, always abonndhig in the work of the Lord/' 

In the month of April 1809, he was removed from 
Dinapore to Cawnpore, several hundred miles farther 
distant from Calcutta, and where there was as yet no 
church for the performance of his ministerial duties. 
He had procured the erection of a church at Dinapore ; 
but we find him at Cawnpore, shortly after his arrival, 
preaching to a thousand soldiers drawn up in a hoUow 
square, when the heat was so great, although the sun 
had not risen, that many actually dropped down, un- 
able to support it. As an illustration of his zeal in 
God's service, it may be mentioned, that in one of the 
worst months for travelling through the upper provinces 
of Hindostan, on account of the intensity of the heat, 
he journeyed day and night upwards of 400 miles, that 
he might get the sooner to his woik at Cawnpore ; and 


80 much did he suffer on the way that he faioted as soon 
as he reached his destination. 

There may have been rashness in putting his life to 
such a risk as this ; but if there was, we forget it in the 
seal which prompted the journey ; and if we cannot un- 
reservedly praise, we must assuredly admire. Oh, of 
the two extremes, give me the living enthusiasm of a love 
which forgets self in its yearning after the honour of the 
Lord, rather than that placid calmness of feeling which 
first consults for self, and then turns leisurely to the 
interests of God ! 

The close of the year 1809 was distinguished by the 
commencement of his first ministrations among the 
heathen. To prevent the recurrence of repeated inter- 
ruptions on his valuable time, he had appointed all who 
needed temporal assistance to meet him on a stated day 
for the distribution of alms. Sometimes as many as 
firom Ave to eight hundred beggars would assemble 
before his house ; andheseized the opportunity of feeding 
them, not only with the bread which perisheth, but with 
the bread which cometh down firom heaven. He had 
the satisfaction of seeing the number increase, and 
also a growing attention to the instructions which he 

He had not been long settled at Cawnpore before he 
received another shock, similar to that which had over- 
whelmed himintheprecedingyear; for letters from Europe 
brought the sad intelligence that bis youngest sister, — 
she who had been his first counsellor and guide in the 
way of peace,-— had been removed from earth. " What 
is there now," he writes to the widowed husband, '' what 


is there now that I should wish to live for ? O, what a 
barren desert, what a howling wilderness, does this world 
iqppear ! But for the service of God in His churchy and 
the preparation of my own soul, I do not know that I 
would wish ' to live another day." But these repeated 
trials were not without their blessings' to his soul. They 
yielded many a ** peaceable fruit of righteousness." Any 
one who reads his journal at this period must be struck 
with his advance in that ** spiritual mind which is life 
and peace." He seems to grow in faith, and in love, 
and in the liberty which becometh one who is ''not 
under the law but under grace." I think one great 
imperfection in his religious character before was a cer- 
tain lack of that " spirit of adoption," whereby, with the 
feelings of a child, we cry, "Abba, Father!" He seemed 
at times to regard God too much as the Judge, " extreme 
to mark what is done amiss." He often permitted, 
moreover, his inward peace to depend in too great a 
measure on the fiames and feelings of his mind at the 
time, so that unless he had always a conscious ex- 
perience of joy, he was downcast and dispirited. But 
we must remember that he was constitutionally melan- 
choly ; that his conscience was peculiarly tender, and 
his spirit strikingly humble; and that there were seasons 
when he soared above all the infirmities which belonged 
to his natural temperament, and basked in the unclouded 
sunshine of his Father's face. There is one point worthy 
of observation as regarded his rejoicing in the Lord. His 
feelings of spiritual joy never exceeded the bounds of 
the most chastened sobriety ; and when his heart was 
most in Heaven his spirit was most abased under the 
" exceeding sinfulness of sin." Fervent love and filial fear 


met in a most blessed and holy union in his soul. When 
he was the child up in the bosom of his Father, he was 
at the same time the creature down in the dust before 
his God. And daily did he '^ grow in grace," gathering 
round him ever the lineaments of heaven, and a sanctity 
which breathed of the Paradise above. And as I hare 
femarked, his trials were sanctified to an increasing 
growth in spirituality and the mind of Christ : he him- 
self tells us he saw " Love inscribed on these afflictions.** 
He was, indeed, a learner in the school of sorrow. And, 
dear friends, sanctified sorrow is a great teacher. There 
are some things that would remain for ever unknown 
were they not brought to light by tribulation. As dark- 
ness not only hides but reveals, so it is with sorrow. 
Suppose the sun were never to descend below the ho- 
rizon, were always to irradiate our hemisphere, how 
much of the workmanship of God we should lose ! It 
is the darkness which discloses the crescent moon as she 
walks miyestically the azure heights of heaven, and 
shews us the lustrous troops of stars as they come up 
one by one through the fiu: depths of the firmament^ 
making the blackness of night beautiful with their bril- 
liant fires. So it is with affliction. Were we permitted 
to live in the unbroken sunshine of prosperityi there are 
laige portions of the word of God whose meaning we 
should not comprehend, whose application we should en- 
tirely lose. Rich promises are there, made only for the 
afflicted ; " words m season," firamed only for the weary; 
statements advanced solely for the sorrowful; conso- 
lation introduced entirely for the travailing and heavy- 
laden. So that trial, with all its dreariness and gloom, 
reveab to us the preciousness of truths of whose ia* 


Fftlue we «lKH]ld without its help continue 

for ever in ignoranee^ and hrings into prominence many 

a gracious pi^amise which, like moon and planet, unless 

revealed by the shadows of night, would for ever 

reauttD hidden and shrouded from our gase. And since 

H is when sorrow darkens our homes that the pages of 

the Bible glow with a tenfold radiance, unfolding many 

a bright star of hope and promise which woidd otherwise 

be overlooked and unappreciated, every Christian, when 

visited with seasons of trouble, may say with the Psalmist, 

** It is good for me that I have been afflicted ; that I 

might learn thy statutes." 

But at length the time comes when his trials and 
labours, and the climate of India, begin to tell upon the 
health of this devoted servant of the Lord. His friends 
become alarmed and anxious, and one of them, Mr. 
Brown, of Calcutta, writes thus :«— '' You will know, from 
our inestimable brother Corrie, my solicitude about your 
health. If I could make you live longer I would give 
up any child I have, and myself into the baiigain. May 
it please the unsearchable and adorable Being with whom 
we have to do, to lengthen out your q>an !" 

Aftejr a considerable struggle in his mind, Martyn 
determined to return for a short time to England, and 
though his affections were strongly drawn to his native 
land, and the friends that were there, yet he was loath to 
leave India, and his work aipong the heathen. 

But his d^iMUture for England is deferred for a time, 
in order that he may visit Arabia and Persia, for the 
purpose of making as perfect as possible his Persian 
versioD of the New Testament. When his resolution is 
made known to his friends, Mr. Brown wrote him a 


letter^ in which he 8ay»— " How can I bring myself to 
cut the string and let you go ? I confess I could not, 
if your bodily frame were strong and promised to last, 
for half a century. But as you bum like the intenaeness 
and rapid blaze of heated phosphorus, why should we 
not make the most of you ? Your frame may last as 
long and perhaps longer in Arabia than in India. 
Where should the phsnix build her odoriferous nest but 
in the land prophetically called 'the blessed?' And 
where shall we ever expect; but from that country, the 
true Comforter to come to the natives of the East? I 
contemplate your New Testament. springing up as it 
wcnre from dust and ashes, and beautifid as the vrings of 
a dove covered with silver, and her feathers like yellow 

In his last sermon at Cawnpore, he is described by 
Mrs. Sherwood, one of his audience on the solemn 
occasion, as " beginning in a weak and frail yoiee, but 
gathering strength as he proceeded, and seeming like 
one inspired from on high." When he passed through 
Calcutta on his way to Arabia, he again, after an absence 
of four years, enjoyed the pure and refined happiness of 
communion with his dear friends in that city. Mr. 
Thomason thus writes of him to Mr. Simeon — " This 
bright and lovely jewel first gladdened my eyes on 
Saturday last. You know his genius, and what gigantic 
strides he takes in every thing. He has some great 
plan in his mind of which I am no competent judge, but, 
as far as I do understand it, the object is far too grand 
for one short life, and much beyond his feeble and ex«- 
hausted frame — feeble it is indeed ! how fallen and 
changed ! In all other respects he is exactly the same 


as he was ; he shines in all the dignity of loFe, and seems 
to cany ahont with him such a heavenly majesty as im- 
presses the mind heyond description. But if he talks 
much, though in a low voice, he sinks, and you are 
reminded of his heing * dust and ashes.' " 

Martyu's own wor4ls on leaving for ever those shores 
on which he had fondly and fully purposed to spend all 
his days, were these : — " I now pass from India to Arabia, 
not knowing the things that shall befall me there, but 
assured that an ever faithful God and Saviour will be 
with me in all places whithersoever I go." 

With such sentiments as these he left Bengal for 
ShinuE, in the January of 181 1 ; and after a voyage 
lasting nearly five months he landed at Bushire in the 
middle of May. After the pause of a few days at 
Bushire, where he learnt so much of the moral state of 
Penia as to make him shudder at a wickedness which 
surpassed even that of the Hindoos, he set out for Shiraz. 
During this journey he suffered much from the extremes 
of both heat and cold ; on some occasions the thermome- 
ter rose to 126, and the only way in which he could 
* defend himself from the fierceness of the sun and pre- 
serve the moisture upon the skin was by wrapping 
himself up in blankets and other coverings thick enough 
to exclude the air. At other times he had recourse to 
laige wet towels, which he wound round his head and 
body ; and to this precaution he owed under God the pre- 
servation of his life. This was in the plains. When he 
began to ascend the mountain defiles, where the road 
often passed so close to the edge of fearful precipices 
that one false step must have plunged him in destruc- 
tion, the cold of the nights was so piercing that all the 


clothes he could collect together could not keep hhn 
(ram shivering. We cannot wonder^ therefore, that when 
he reached Carzeroon, where he halted for a short period, 
he could say, " there seemed to he a fire within my head, 
my skin was like a cinder, and my pulse violent; J 
awoke many times during the night to dtp my buHiing 
hand in water." 

At lengrth he arrived at Shiraz, a dty which has been 
called the " Athens of Persia," because it has given birth 
to many poets and hialorians, who hold a distingnirtied 
place in the literature of Asia. The very name of Persia 
brings back to the mind those Eaaitni tales in which the 
loves of the Nightingale and the Rose form so con^icuous 
« partp— which tell of many a daring exploit of the 
ancisDt natives of the conntr}'i the worshippers of the sun 
and the fire ; and how at length the Arabs conquered the 
followers of Zoroaster, and forcing them to become 
wanderers abroad, intioduced the Mahomedan religion 
into the land. But the poetical associations of the 
region in which he was now settled could not prevent 
Marty n from seeing the terrible evils which oppressed 
both the country and the inhabitants. It is thus he* 
writes from Persia to a friend in England : — '* As for their 
wickedness and misery, it is only human nature un- 
veiled, its depravity heightened perhaps by the supenti* 
tion under which they groan." 

It is not my intention to . give you any lengthened 
account of Martyn's labours in Persia, for however rich 
in interest is his journal at this period, I feel that I must 
not trespass much longer on your attention. Besides, 
one object of this lecture is to induce those of you who 
have not already made acquaintance with his life, to read 


the Inogivphy for yoarselres, for I sincerely believe that 
if yon do so in a right spirit you will rise np from the 
perusal both humbler and better men. Suffice it to say, 
that while he carried on with vigour his immediate object 
to Peniia» that of completing a more perfect translation 
of the New Testament in the Persian language, he stood 
forth as the faithful Christian confessor attacking the 
fiklse religion of Mahomet in the veiy presence of his most 
bigoted followen, and witnessing boldly for the ** truth 
as it is in Jesus.'* 

He himself has sketched for us his own portndt at 
this time t— '* I am in Persia, entrenched in one of its 
valleys, separated from Indian friends by chains of moun- 
tains and a roaring sea, among a people depraved beyond 
all belief, in the power of a tynnt guilQr of every species 
of atrocity. Imagine a tall person, seated on a Persian 
caipet in a room without table or chair, with a pair of 
formidable mostachios, and habited as a Persian, and 
you see me." 

I think I see this man of God, with his pale and loily 
brow, and* melancholy eye, clothed in his oriental garb, 
which is folded over a heart full of the love of Jesus, 
surrounded by his Mahometan opponents, before whom 
he is confessmg the fidth of Christ. Some of his hearers 
are contemptuous i others violent ; others clamorous ; yet 
he calmly and temperately upholds the cause of his 
Redeemer, and maintains against all their unbelief that 
Christ is not only human but diriue : " God of God, 
li^t of lights very God of very God." Though the 
▼indication of the deity of the Saviour before these 
adherents of the false prophet exposes him not only to 
many insults, but also to personal danger, he "rgoices 


in the truth ;" and not shrinking from declaring ** whose 
he was, and whom he senred/' " contends earnestly for the 
ffidth once delivered to the saints." It is a noble 
spectacle, and one which proves to us the mighty power 
of faith, and the constraining influence of love. It tells 
us that wherever faith and love bum clearly and brightly 
in the soul, there is no consulting for the interests of 
flesh and blood; no longing for the applause of the 
world ; no thirsting for the approbation of men ; but in- 
stead of these, aspirations after heaven, and yearnings 
for the honour which cometh from God ; and desire above 
all things that Christ be magnified in the body whether 
it be by life or death. For this is the language of every 
Christian man whose communion is with the spirit which 
abideth for evermore : *' Whether we live, we live unto 
the Lord, and whether we die, we die unto the Lord ; ao 
that living or dying we are the Lord's." 

Just one year after his entering Persia, Martyn left 
Shiraz with the intention of laying before the king, Ali 
Shah Kajar, his translation of the New Testament. 

When, after a fatiguing journey of eighf weeks, he 
reaches the king's camp, he is refused an audience, as u 
is not the custom for any Englishman to enter the royal 
presence unless presented by the ambassador, or ac- 
credited by his letter. Disappointed in his object, he 
lost no time in leaving the camp, and proceeded at once 
to Tebriz; for through the influence of the English 
ambassador there. Sir Qore Ousely, he hoped still to 
obtain a personal interview with the king* His wishes, 
however, were again defeated, for he suffered so much on 
his journey, not only from the heat, but also at times 
from scarcity of food, that he was tortured by pain and 


sickness, and reduced to a state of great exhaustion. He 
speaks of having eaten nothing for two days ; of having 
applied to many rich people for even a piastre, and of 
being refused; and of having .been at length supplied 
with what was necessary, because a poor muleteer from 
Tebriz became security for him and his companions. 
As the natural consequences of these hardships, he was 
attacked by ague and fever, accompanied at times by 
tnch aching of the head, and giddiness, that he almost 
became frantic with the pain : but even in the midst of 
his agonies, he said again and again, *' Let patience have 
her perfect work;" and he continued pleading before God 
the precious promise — '' When thou passest through the 
waters I will be with thee; and through the rivers they 
shall not overflow thee." 

His sufferings during this painful journey bad such 
an effect on his exhausted frame, that upon his arrival 
at Tebriz he was seized with a violent illness, which, 
lasting for two months, wasted all his strength, and nearly 
deprived him of rnason. Upon his being raised up, he 
determined to return to England for the purpose of re- 
covering his health, and in September set out on his 
long journey homewards. One thousand three himdred 
miles had he to traverse before he could tread again the 
shores of his native land ; and he had but faint hopes of 
reaching his destination. He writes thus to Mr. 
Simeon : — ** You will learn from Mr. Grant that I have 
applied for leave to come to England on furlough — 
a measure you will disapprove ; but you would not, were 
you to see the pitiable condition to which I am reduced, 
and knew what it is to traverse the continent of Asia in 
the destitute state in which I am. If you wish not to 


see me, I can say that I Uiink it most probable that yoa 
will not ; the way hefote me being not better than that 
passed over, which has nearly killed me." 

The miseries he endured while travelling from Tebris 
to Tocat in Asiatic Turkey were intense; though at 
times he was able to enjoy the beauty and interest of 
the scenes through which he passed ; for now the river 
Araxes rolled its rapid current before him ; and now the 
hoary peaks of Mount Ararat led back has thoughts to 
the early world, and the church gathered into the ark, 
and the rainbow, beautiful token of the gracious covenant 
of God. But it is not long before the daily fatigue 
begins to tell powerfully on his weakened frame ; the 
fever and ague return, attended by depression of ^irits, 
which, however, never interferes with his peace of mind, 
for his soul rests still upon Him who is a " very present 
help in time of trouble." As he draws near Tocnt, after 
journeying about a month, he hears that the plague is 
raging there, and he feels that he is passing inevitably into 
imminent danger. The Tartar guide who was to escort 
him to Tocat, compels him, firom private motives of his 
own, to travel day and night, and hurries him onwards 
with the greatest rapidity, until Martyn, dismounting 
from his horse, says resolutely he will go no further. 
This night he sleeps in a stable-room, for though he 
might be better lodged in the house of public entertain- 
ment, he wishes to be alone, and longs for quietness and 
rest. But his desire is not granted, for he is fol- 
lowed to this place by others, who have neither pity 
nor compassion for his sufferings. Here his fever in* 
creases to a violent degree ; and the heat in his eyes 
and forehead is so . heightened by a fire which they 


bsve kindled, and will not put out at his urgent xeqnest, 
that he becomes almost maddened with the pain. He 
eDtreats them to cany hin^ out into the fresh night-air, 
bat they are deaf to all he says. As a last resource he 
places his head among the baggage* seeking to cool it 
Qpon the damp groimd, and in this position fiills asleep. 
But his sorrows are soon to end. A few days more and 
be will be where sunow never comes. He has '' fought 
the good fight and kept the faith" — he is found ''faith- 
ful unto death, and the crown of life is being woven 
ibr his brow." Soon will the stany portals of the 
kingdom of heaveh roll back to admit his soul among 
the TCJoieing choirs of the redeemed. 

He himself longed for the time, when being " absent 
firom the body, he should be present with the Lord." 
His last recorded words are these : '^ I sat in the 
orchard, and thought with sweet comfort and peace of 
my God; in solitude my companion, my friend, and 
comforter. Oh ! when shall time give place to eternity ? 
when shall appear that 'new heaven and new earth 
wherein dwelleth righteousness ?' There ' there shall in 
so wise enter in anything that defileth ;' none of that 
wickedness which has made men worse than wild beasts ; 
none of those corruptions which add still more to the 
miseries of mortality shall be seen or heard of any 

Ten days after these heavenly a^irations, on the 16th 
of October, 1812, at the early age of 32, either falling 
A victim to the plague, or sinking under the fever which 
had so greatly reduced his strength, he entered the 
presence of tbat Saviour "whom having not seen he 
Jovedi and in whom, though he now saw him not, yet 


believing^ he rejoiced with joy unspeakable aud full 
of gloty." 

There is something very touching in the thought of 
that lonely death-bed in a foreign laud. No relative 
was near to watch his last look, to catch his last words ; 
no kinsman stood by bis couch to whisper encouraging 
truths, to close his eyes, or wipe the dews from his fore- 
head, or speak cheeringly of that better land to which he 
was drawing near. The friends whose privilege it would 
have been to perform these last offices of love were 
anxiously expecting tidings of his arrival either in India 
or England. And what fond thoughts of his distant^ 
home, of affectionate relatives, of friends dear to his 
gentle heart— of all that shared his sympathies or 
ei^gaged his solicitude, may have ru&hed in a flood of 
thrilling remembrances upon his soul, we know not, and 
cannot tell. It may have been with him as it was with 
the traveller who laid him down to die on the burning 
sands of AfHca, before whose closing eyes came floating 
up visions of the past, and in whose ears there rang 
old famihar voices, and who uttered almost as his last 
words — " I have just heard the sound of an English 
funeral bell." 

But however apparently desolate Martyn's dying bed, 
and whatever the feelings which pervaded his mind, of 
one thing we may be certain, — that he was not alone in 
his expiring hour, for the Good Shepherd was with his 
faithful servant when death stamped his cold signet on 
his pale brow ; and He administered that rich consola- 
tion which gives the soul strength and assurance, and 
at times rapture, when about to appear in the presence 
of its Gk)d. Nor does He^ wlio thus tenderly ** loosed 


the silTer cord, and gently broke the goldea bowl/' 
that the Bpirit of his loving saint might be with him 
where he was, forget the body, which was once that 
spirit's tabernacle — ^the body, every particle of whose 
dost was ransomed by blood. There is one spot at 
least in the plains of Turkey over which Qod watches 
with sleepless eye, and which may be called "holy 
groond,". for there rest the ashes of one whose body 
was " a temple for the Holy Ghost," and concerning 
whom the {Nromise has been made — *' I will raise him 
op at the last day ;" and though winds may sweep the 
^gra^e in which these ashes repose, and mde men may 
trample on it, and time lay upon it his stern and 
^bcing finger, yet does it contain dust which is pre- 
cioos in the sight of the Lord, and over which he 
watches with peculiar care. And this same solitary 
tomb has become a place enshrined within the affections 
of the church ; nor will the name of " Henry Martyn" 
ever cease to blend with her most cherished and holy 
recollections, until she pass from her militant into her 
triumphant condition, when this name shall be lost in 
the brighter glories of that ** new name which no man 
kooweth save he that receive th it," and which shall be 
given " to all that overcome." 

Not altogether melancholy, then, are the thoughts 
with which we contemplate that unfrequented grave at 
Tocat ; for '' blessed are the dead which die in the Lord ;" 
and they that have lived and toiled and served God in 
the martyr's spirit, shall be rewarded with the martyr's 
crown. The resting-places of the just, even though 
they may be stained aud crimsoned with the heartV 
blood of the saints and confessors who sleep beneath, 



can never be associated in our minds with what U 
inourufol and sad : rather are they connected with 
thoughts of honour, and reyerence, and lo>e. Nor is' 
there the tomb of any one of India's conquerors, how- 
ever garnished, or decorated, or adorned — ^however made 
the subject of the poef s eulogy or the historian's 
praise, that I would choose in preference to thai of the 
humble one Of Henry Martyn ; for though he endured 
hardships, and suffered from an unhealthy climate, and 
knew the desolateness of a lonely life — though he lan- 
guished under unsoothed a£3ictions and unshared 
anxiety, and untended sickness — yet in giving his life 
to the salvation of souls he did deeds which attract th^ 
admiration of heaven, and whose issues shall be felt to 
the farthest eternity. He may have lacked earthly 
honours and .joys, but his record is on high ; and by 
preaching the Gospel to the ignorant, and by causing 
languages hitherto silent in those glorious trutha 
which " make men wise unto salvation,'* to speak 
eloquently to millions of immortal souls in the tongues 
which they understood, he Aung a pathway of light 
over the dark tracks of heathenism, and became the 
author of blessings which can never be known till time 
shall be no more. His reward may not have been such 
as follows the hero of the age, and who receives the 
loud acclaim of mankind, but it is one better, higher, 
more lustrous ; and when thronesj shall crumble, 
and empires totter to ruin, and when heaven and earth 
themselves shall have passed away, the crown shall 
still sparkle on his brow, and the palm shall wave 
brightly in his hand. 

Oh! that parents who count themselves fortunate 


when their children are offered a cadet's commission, 
or a civilian's appointment, or a merchant's partnership, 
would rememher that the highest end to which onr life, 
80 brief, and yet so associated with eternal destinies, 
can be devoted, is to make men acquainted with that 
knowledge which alone can bring them to heaven and 
to God. Why should the father hail with satisfaction 
an Indian appointment for his son, and yet shrink 
bock from what he would confess to be a sacrifice, 
were he asked to send him forth to toil under the same 
climate in the cause of Christ and of souls ? 

Mothers, why not teach your darling boys — sisters, 
why not animate your loving brothers — ^young men, 
why not be instructed in the truth, that, in the councils 
of heaven, fiur beyond the lofty statesman, or the 
mighty general, or the eloquent orator, or the success- 
fdl merchant, ranks the man who goes forth with his 
life in his hand to win souls to Christ ; and that the 
office which he bears has been alike dignified and sanc- 
tified by the fact that the first missionary who trod the 
provinces of this fallen world was the '* Son of God," 
« the Lord firom Heaven !" 

And let me, in conclusion, remind you all, that from 
the silent tomb of Henry Martyn there comes a voice 
rich in practical lessons ; and that he '* being dead yet 
speaketh." This voice teaches us what a real and 
earnest thing true religion is ; and reveals to us that 
life is too great, too holy, too solemn, to be frittered 
away in the frivolous vanities of the world ; and that 
pursuits loftier than these are becoming a being made 
pnly a " little lower than the angels," whose spirit can 
hold communion with God, and who can become the 


iiiftnimeiit ^' of turning many sonlsunto righteottftneM." 
Aje, And it telk xm that it ib not in the doister of the 
monk, or in the cell of the nun, or in the cave of the 
hermit that God can be beet Berted, and men moat 
benefited, and that true apiritnal life penrades every- 
thing with ditine vigour, filla all the eaiis of action, and 
nrgea the poaaesaor to do bravely, *and dare greatly, and 
die bol<fly in hia Master's cause. It says, moreover, 
that vre have all a work to do for God ; and that if we 
lure not -aXLed to labour in foreign lands, we may serve 
Him in our several employments at home ; and that 
by " holding forth the word of hfo" in our daily walk 
and conversation, we may be missionaries in our 
fiimilieB, missioiiaries in our streets, missionaries in our 
schools, missionaries amongst our friends and acquaint- 
ance — missionaries amongst al^ who are ttili ignorant 
of the Lord. Oh ! that tiiis voice may be listened 
to, and awiften a ready response in the bosoms of ns 

^mid the Alpine solitudes of Switxerland, a shepherd 
will sometimes blow a note upon his horn, which, ring- 
ing through the majestic amphitheatre of hills, makes 
the pastoral vales and npland heaths mdodious, and 
calls forth a thousand echoes, each sweeter and more 
musical than the other, till at length they die gently 
away, and the reign of silence is restored. So I could 
vnsh that the voice from Henry Martyn*s grave 
might awaken the response of love and energy and 
seal in your breasts; not, indeed, that the echoea 
once aroused should ever cease, but that from your 
hearts they might communicate themselves to others, 
and yet to others, reverberating ever wider and mom 


eztensiTely ; and that the sounds thus evoked might be 
heard eveiTnntii that sublime hour when they shall be 
lost in the swelling notes of the triumphant shout 
which shall yet gladden the hills and valleys of the 
earthy when the Lord comes to set up his tabernacle 
amongst men — a shout which shall arise ** as the noise 
of many waters, and the voice of a great thunder," to 
the throne of God and the Lamb — " Hai^lelujah, 


become the kingdoms of our lord and of his 
Christ; and He shall reign for ever and 

EVER !" 



Wilson and Ooilvy, 

Skioner Street.